Bitter Reality
by Eumoiriety
Summary: Varia AR.  Everything began to fall apart shortly after the announcement.  First there was Mochida, the girl in red, and the boy in brown.  Then there was Reborn, the Vongola, the Varia, Mukuro, and more Reborn.  Not the mention, the police, press, and even his friends were on his tail.  So no: life was not treating him well, not at all.
1. Chapter 1

This chapter has been rewritten to move on with the plot I have set for the rest of this story.

**Warning: **character death, unhappy ending: don't like don't read.

* * *

Training with Reborn has always been hell.

Everything was painful. Tsuna woke up to a hammer, was forced to dodge bullets, and had bombs detonated in his room if he answered a single question wrong on his homework despite it being commonly known that he was a failing student. He had been shot more than once, and had been forced to capture some escaped convicts. He had been kicked, punched, and abused by that very same person who called him his tutor, and he hated all of it.

But even then it was still in the 'acceptable' range.

That was what he thought when Reborn spoke, seven words that would change his world.

"Excuse me?" he asked incredulously. He could not have heard that right.

The baby stared back at him flatly.

"I told you already," Reborn said. "I will teach you how to kill."

* * *

A week had passed since the Kokuyo incident.

The day had begun like any other. Tiring. Monotonous. He was still laughed at by his peers at school, and was still called that horrendous nickname 'Dame-Tsuna.' It had been a long, painful week, as the effects of the Hyper Dying Will Bullet had set in. Even now, he could still feel the backlash caused by the abnormal amount of strain he had put on his body.

Even so, Reborn had made him go to school, trying to settle him back down into the ordinary daily life he once enjoyed.

Tsuna would have never thought that something had been off. Yes, Reborn seemed strangely tense and quiet. He had held back from his usual sadism for the entire day, something that Tsuna had assumed was a miracle.

He should have known that something else was coming.

Even back at home, things were oddly subdued. Despite having I-pin and Lambo running around screaming, without Reborn's interference it felt oddly quiet. Fuuta was still in the hospital; the brunet needed more time to recover from the trauma and injuries he had endured. Bianchi was, too. She had been stabbed through her side, and Tsuna was unsure how long she would be forced to stay. He was just grateful that they were still alive.

Nana had called the family down for dinner a while ago, but Reborn had held Tsuna back in his room. "I need to tell you something," Reborn had said curtly, and he had nodded in confusion. He had quickly told his mother that he was busy before he closed the door. As an afterthought, he had turned the lock.

Good thing he had too, he thought miserably. A strangled scream was building in his throat and he couldn't seem to get it out.

"You're kidding." Tsuna's voice wavered uncertainly, brown eyes wide and fearful.

Reborn pulled his fedora lower on his head and looked straight into Tsuna's desperate gaze. "I am not."

For a few seconds Tsuna's mind was curiously blank, but then wrenching horror ripped through his body with a force that nearly knocked him over. He fell to his knees, feeling oddly weak as his mind suddenly lost control of all of the muscles in his legs, trying hard to scoot back into the wall behind him. Hands quivering, he gripped his head and whimpered, "You're kidding me, you're kidding me, you have _got_ to be kidding me."

Glaring somewhat, Reborn jumped from his position on Tsuna's bed, landing on the brunet's pasty knees. In a single movement he grabbed Leon, the green chameleon instantly morphing into the familiar green gun—which, strangely, had never seemed so undeniably frightening. He flinched violently as the barrel pressed almost gently into the center of his forehead, the cold metal sending chills through his shaking form.

"Am I?" Reborn asked softly.

Tsuna shivered as he stared at the weapon, unable to tear his eyes away. Sweat slid down his paling cheeks; no matter what he thought, what he tried, he couldn't move. It was strange, he thought distantly, that despite all of that hellish training he had already been through, he couldn't move to save his life. Had all of the torture he had suffered been for naught?

Reborn didn't look away. "You are wondering why I'm ordering this now. You are wondering why you have to learn to kill." Against the penetrating gaze, Tsuna could barely bring himself to tip his head in the barest trace of a nod. To his surprise, Reborn took the wordless reply without comment; the tutor was usually quick to voice his opinion, such as whether he perceived Tsuna's actions as stupid or cowardly or anything of the like. Instead, Reborn merely moved the gun away and returned Leon, scuttling anxiously on all four legs, to the rim of his distinctive black and orange fedora. "Do you honestly think that the mafia is a joke? People die. The mafia is no exception. It's a harsh world out there. Many people will perish because of you, for one reason or another, especially given your title as Decimo. The mafia is a criminal organization, after all."

Tsuna shivered. "I don't want to be the Decimo. I don't want to be a Mafioso."

Reborn sent him a glare that caused his words to sputter out weakly and fade to nothing. "You are going to be the Decimo, no matter what you want. It has already been decided. Just because it is the mafia doesn't mean that there can't be some good in it. As Decimo, you can choose to make the Vongola a peaceful family, but no matter what, Sawada Tsunayoshi, you have to learn to kill." He paused. "That expression on your face tells me that you're still against it. Think about this, Dame-Tsuna: you nearly lost your friends against the Kokuyo. They are just mere convicts, not even the boss or the guardians of a famiglia but just _ordinary people_—and yet you nearly died. Mukuro almost managed to possess you, and almost brought the downfall of the world. You and your friends could have died—yet you insist on continuing to live a babied life.

"In the future you will meet worse, much worse. You managed to defeat Mukuro by knocking him out...but what if you can't? You care a lot about protecting other people, Dame-Tsuna. What if they are the ones in danger of being hit? Being killed? Surely you can't think that you can simply just knock them out and call it day, because then they can come back. And then those people you were trying to save will be endangered all over again. Even if you dislike it, even if you want nothing to do with it, the underground world will come seek you and everybody that you are associated with out simply because you are Sawada Tsunayoshi. Do you understand?"

Tsuna didn't answer.

Reborn's voice was like acid to his ears. "Over the next three weeks, we are going to eliminate your fear of death and violence. You need to be accustomed to it as the next heir to the most powerful family in the world. We will start by having you kill a man, thus showing you what it is like to have a life snuffed out by your hands."

It was all a nightmare. That had to be it. There was no way, absolutely no way, that this could be true. Tsuna desperately pinched his arm again and again, trying to seek an escape, yet to his horror, nothing was changing, nothing at all. This is real, his mind murmured softly, there is no way out. But that was wrong: there had to be some way, another way out of this mess. There had to be something that he could do in order to change it, in order to refuse. His mind quickly tried to run over all of the possibilities over, trying to search for that one way escape.

"I'd rather kill myself than to kill another. I'd kill myself first!"

Reborn remained wholly nonchalant. "What about Gokudera? What about Yamamoto? What about Kyoko and Haru, Lambo and I-pin, all of whom have come to revolve around you? All of whom who have come to care for you for who you are?"

Tsuna trembled.

"You say you'd rather kill yourself first," Reborn continued dispassionately. "The moment you do, you would leave the rest of your family unprotected. You would allow Gokudera to fall deeper into the crime world, would allow Yamamoto to finally jump of the roof, and allow Lambo and I-pin to truly become heartless assassins. You would leave Ryohei and Kyoko unprotected—being a boxer is not enough to stand against a trained assassin—and allow them to be picked off, one by one."

"But I'd be dead," Tsuna interrupted tremulously. "There'd be no reason to—"

"You underestimate the mafia!" Reborn snapped. "Heirs have tried to remove their existence from the world for their safety and failed. Records can be falsified. Your death could be faked. As the most powerful famiglia in the world, the Vongola has powerful enemies, enemies that would stop at nothing to try to remove you from the picture. If it becomes known that civilians like Kyoko and Haru are close to you, the future Decimo, they will become high-priority targets and will be assassinated—all for the sake of breaking you, regardless if you are active in the mafia or not. _Anyone_ with ties to you are targets—anybody you know could die the next day, simply because you are who you are. Never forget that, Dame-Tsuna."

Somehow, the words seemed to resonate something inside him, and then Tsuna knew. Whether unconsciously or not, he had feared the situation, ever since he had first been told he was Vongola Decimo. He had never once believed that he had been safe, ever since that day. Had he been denying it, suppressing it, all this time? He had wished with all his heart that it would never come to this.

Tsuna looked at Reborn beseechingly. "I won't kill. Don't get me wrong. I-I know. I know that the mafia is dangerous, and I know what can happen. But—but there has to be some way that I can guarantee that everybody survives. There _has_ to be." Reborn was smart; he _had_ to see his reasoning. Surely there was a method in the world where everyone he cared for would be happy. Cheerful.

Oblivious.

His heart plummeted as Reborn pinned him with an incredulous glare. "That's not kindness, that's stupidity. We both know that soft idiots cannot survive within the underground world."

Tsuna jumped to his feet, fists shaking with fury. "Fine! I'm a soft idiot, but I can't change that! I won't change because of a position I don't want to have! If I can't survive, then I won't! I won't become Vongola Dec—" His intuition flared in a silent scream of warning, but before his body could react he was falling. Pain exploded on the back of his head as he was slammed brutally against the bedroom wall behind him. His vision whitened, and he could hear someone crying out in pain. It took a few seconds to process that the scream was his.

Reborn lifted the pistol and pressed it dispassionately into Tsuna's chest, right above his heart. Suddenly the tiny fingers were all that Tsuna could see—he could see the way they didn't shake, he could see the way the gun didn't shift, didn't sway in Reborn's sinfully steady grip. The room was spinning dizzily and his head hurt, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from the steady gun.

Surely Reborn wouldn't shoot him, he was the only heir left—

"From the very beginning, you never had a choice," Reborn said lowly. "The moment you were born, you were selected as a candidate for the future Vongola Decimo. You do not have a choice in this matter; you never had and never will. You cannot refuse. Do you understand?"

Tsuna nodded, trying to hide his trembling from view. The entire situation was unfair. He hadn't asked for it, he never wanted it. Everything was piled onto his shoulders as his responsibility simply because he was related to the founder. From the moment Reborn had walked into his life, he had never had control, and he hated it.

Reborn eyed him for another moment before allowing Leon to shift back, apparently satisfied with his answer.

Tsuna closed his eyes in another attempt to control his reaction. He wanted so badly to run away—to run away, to be free of the chains of heritage that bound him. He wanted to just _leave_, to run away and to never look back. But the moment he did that was the moment all was lost; everything he had ever wanted would be forever from his grasp.

He had never felt so trapped.

Vaguely, he realized that Reborn was speaking. "You will kill one man, and one man only. The rest of the three weeks is just target practice. You have no choice in this, Dame-Tsuna. Do you understand?"

Tsuna forced the accursed words out of the lump in his throat.

"Yes, Reborn."

The shadows had never seemed so dark.


	2. Chapter 2

**Title: **Bitter Reality

**By: **Chi-tanda

**A/N:** For those of you who have not read the Hidden Bullet novels, this chapter will be confusing. The explanation I provided is convoluted for a reason. If there are any questions regarding what the hell happened, just ask.

The first chapter has been modified; it is best to go back and read it because a significant amount has been changed.

* * *

The next morning began as peacefully as any other day. The sky was clear, the birds were chirping, and the children were shrieking obnoxiously.

Tsuna roused himself with a groan. His muscles still ached from the Hyper Dying Will Bullet, and they protested every time he moved.

He stood up, grimacing as jolts of pain flickered through his body. He felt oddly tired, despite sleeping for a long while. The sleep hadn't been pleasant; he had a nightmare, something of Reborn, learning to kill, and a gun. He didn't want to think about it. The thought of the nightmare brought an uncomfortable feeling of fear and helplessness, something he would rather not endure.

It wasn't until he reached the door that he noticed something was off. Usually, either Nana or Reborn would have woken him up by now, but both had left him alone. He shrugged off the thought. Whatever Reborn was thinking wasn't relevant.

After making sure that he looked presentable, Tsuna stepped down the stairs into the kitchen. "Mom?"

Nana smiled warmly. "Ah, Tsu-kun! You're up!"

Tsuna moved toward the kitchen table, settling himself down and lifting his chopsticks. "Where's Reborn?"

"Reborn-kun? He left early, saying that you should sleep in."

Tsuna frowned. Why was Reborn so kind all of the sudden? It was completely unlike him. Just as he was speculating about what could have possibly happened to Reborn to cause such a change (ideas that included Reborn finally realizing the error of his ways, which, incidentally, Tsuna highly doubted), the infant himself walked into the room. "Ciaossu," Reborn greeted as usual, and Tsuna opened his mouth to speak when suddenly the impression of cold black eyes flashed across his mind and compressed his throat. Huh, how strange. Hadn't he seen that in his nightmare?

As Nana busied around the kitchen pulling pots and pans and god-knows what else (he had never been too certain what she did in the kitchen in order to prepare such delicious food; for all he knew she was sacrificing her soul to some demonic god in return for food), he could feel Reborn's silent appraisal burning proverbial holes into his head. He couldn't bring himself to be too concerned though—he was pleased that Reborn wasn't taking his food for once. It was a miracle.

Reborn broke the silence first. "How are you feeling?"

This was so unlike him that Tsuna raised an eyebrow. He was unsure why Reborn was asking in the first place. Reborn had never seemed to express the same amount of concern for him when Tsuna needed it, such as when he was bruised and bleeding and almost catatonic from all of the deafening explosions going off in his bedroom due to a certain someone.

Somehow he managed to sketch a casual shrug. "Fine. I had a nightmare, though. Something about you ordering me to learn to kill."

Reborn watched him carefully.

"It wasn't a dream."

Tsuna's hand paused midway to his mouth, all thoughts about having an entire breakfast to himself for the first time in months forgotten. He could already feel the comings of a panic attack as his mind flickered back to the 'dream,' no matter how hard he tried to divert his attention. Generally, his dreams were never really vivid. It had seemed strange at first that he could recall the fear, the pain, and the helplessness that he had experienced. He had dismissed it because he had assumed the fear came from the possibility of it occurring in reality, but if it had actually occurred, then it would explain the intense degree of his reaction. He could recall with startling clarity the emptiness in Reborn's expression, the feeling of sweat running down his cheeks. He could recall the cold press of the barrel to his forehead, and the merciless gleam of a murderer in Reborn's dark eyes. And most of all, he could remember the feeling of raw desperation surging through him in unrelenting waves.

The chopsticks clattered onto the table. Tsuna was on his feet in the next instant, unable to look at Reborn.

He needed to go somewhere, anywhere away from that _monster_. He needed to go away, somewhere where Reborn couldn't find him—

But where could he go? He needed to talk to someone; he could deal with this alone. But who could he go to?

He skidded on the sidewalk, breathing hard. His eyes were burning, and he could feel the tears threatening to slide down his cheeks.

There was Gokudera, who would undoubtedly listen to him no matter wha he had to say. He would listen and would definitely try to help him—

But would he understand?

Gokudera, after all, was already in the mafia. Tsuna had never really considered it before, but that likely meant that Gokudera had already killed. He seemed to have no qualms about killing; the very first day they had met, Gokudera had tried to murder him in cold blood. For all he knew, Gokudera might just say that it was no big deal.

Then what about Yamamoto? No—the baseball player definitely wouldn't understand. To Yamamoto, the mafia was nothing but a game. Tsuna was content letting Yamamoto believe this; it made him feel less guilty about drafting his friend into the underground world.

He knew that eventually he would have to burst Yamamoto's bubble. Eventually, Yamamoto would become too deeply involved to dismiss it as a mere game. For now, though, Tsuna did not want to ruin his life with the news, just like Reborn had ruined his.

Kyoko and Haru were out of the question. They didn't even know that he was involved in anything violent. Ryohei, on the other hand, wouldn't understand no matter what he said.

And Hibari—as if. He'd die before he finished spilling all of his insecurities to the skylark.

There was no one he could go to.

His lips trembled, and he bit them to keep the choked sobs from forcing their way out of his throat. Tsuna began to walk unseeingly, letting his body take over and guide him to the place they wanted to go.

He found himself standing in front of the park. Children were playing, smiling innocently to each other as they shouted and giggled. There were few adults standing around, chatting with each other as their children played. Despite the fact that things were rapidly changing in Namimori, they all seemed so happy, so normal, that he wanted to laugh. Couldn't they tell that a future murderer was standing there, right in front of them, lingering by the post in front of the park? Couldn't they see that he was about to fall apart? Yet none of them noticed anything, none of them even spared him a glance. Somehow, the action made him shiver and feel much more isolated than ever before.

Tsuna walked over to the swings and sat down. The chains creaked at his weight, and he found himself despondently swinging himself back and forth, back and forth. The endless monotony soothed him, gave him something to think about, something to do, to take everything off his mind.

Back and forth. Back and forth.

He stayed there the rest of the morning and into the night.

* * *

"Tsuna."

Tsuna raised his head slowly.

The morning sky had faded into a dull gray and black, sprinkled with limitless stars. He couldn't remember how long he had been sitting on the swing, except that he had been sitting there for a long, long time. Even now he sat there, rocking back and forth, letting the rise and fall of the swing's arc sooth his deadened mind.

Reborn stood there by the park's entrance, his shadow elongated far out behind him. The moon was barely enough to illuminate his form, the silvery light sharply contrasting the pale skin and the dark shadows. Even the yellow of the pacifier and the orange of the fedora seemed darkened, deadened, until it was barely more than a small smudge of color against the black and white world.

"It's time," Reborn said curtly. "By the foot of the cliff near the river. Read this report on the way." Without another word Reborn handed him a small packet of papers and a flashlight.

Tsuna eyed him tiredly, unable to say a thing. The only thing he could do was to comply.

There was no one to watch them as they slipped away from the park, Reborn with his practiced grace and Tsuna barely refraining from tripping over his own feet. Reborn didn't remark on his clumsiness, but instead watched him with emptily.

They were both silent the entire way.

In the beginning he tried to ignore the sheet of paper, because he was pretty sure he knew what the sheet of paper contained. But then each and every step seemed so _long_, and time refused to pass faster. At long last he mentally screamed and gave up, flicking the flashlight on.

The criminal's name was Masato Hitsuji, a boy not much older than himself. Masato had been the class president of Kokuyo, before Mukuro and his gang has arrived. According to the paper, Masato had been a very passionate person who disliked violence, and had been very determined to reform the infamous Kokuyo Middle.

But everything had gone downhill when Mukuro decided to take over. Distraught that his hard work was to be for naught, Masato began to employ violence as a method to gain followers. Masato had then led a confrontation with Mukuro, who he perceived as a threat to his authority. However, Masato's group had been annihilated. When Mukuro's endless manipulations came to light, Masato had snapped and had run away.

Masato, from that day forward, has been known to the public as the fallen class president who had resorted to abusing his peers.

While admittedly Mukuro was the reason why Masato had changed so drastically, Mukuro's influence did not condone Masato's next actions. Masato, blinded by rage, had run from the police that had tried to take him custody. With his martial arts skills, he had disarmed one policeman and proceeded to shoot at the others, killing three and injuring nine. He had also shot and killed multiple innocent bystanders; a stray bullet killed a little girl instantly when she was walking home from school.

After wreaking more havoc and eluding the police, he was finally caught and suppressed by Dino and his lackeys on the same day Tsuna had confronted the Kokuyo. Unfortunately, the insane Masato managed to fatally wound a member of the Chiavarone before he was caught.

The total number of casualties was 12 dead, 37 injured.

When Masato was first caught, the facts had been hazy. Dino had only been told to hunt down a man killing civilians in Namimori. Once in custody, a few interrogation sessions had been enough to drag the entire story from Masato.

Although the Vindice usually only dealt with mafia criminals, Masato had been brainwashed and driven insane by Mukuro, the boy who destroyed the Estraneo. Other Mafiosos were unwilling to take the chance of having Masato escape from an ordinary prison and to help set Mukuro free. In addition, he had killed a member of the mafia, unwittingly or not. As such, he was sentenced to spend years in Vendicare.

The Ninth then removed him for Tsuna to kill.

When he was done reading the packet he felt sickened. Ultimately it was his fault that Masato had been attacked, because if he didn't exist, then Mukuro wouldn't have come to Kokuyo and then Namimori. It was his fault, all his fault.

The walk seemed to take hours, and every step made Tsuna's determination waver. Why should he keep walking, if walking would only lead him to his personal hell? Why keep walking, when he could run away and never look back? Every turn in the road made him hesitate, and every flicker of the shadows made him flinch.

He was shaking, but not from the cold.

When they reached the bottom of the cliff, something was already there. As they moved closer, Tsuna could make out the vague humanoid form of a person, sitting by the rocks.

A brown-haired boy was resting below the cliff. He almost seemed folded in on himself; his arms were wrapped around his legs, almost protectively, and his face was buried in his knees. Short silver chains encircled his wrists and bound him to the gray rocks.

The familiar green uniform made Tsuna flinch. "A Kokuyo student," Tsuna said weakly. Somehow reading it on the paper hadn't convinced him that Masato wasn't an old man. "Reborn, what—"

His voice died as the boy lifted his head.

Dark eyes regarded him silently, appraisingly. Tsuna suddenly felt caught and captivated by those eyes; they were _broken_, as if they had seen too much in too little time. There was fear, desperation, and most of all denial—as if the boy was insisting that nothing was real, and that everything was nothing but a terribly cruel lie.

Reborn's voice was barely audible past the thumping in his ears.

"This is your target," he said quietly. "Masato Hitsuji, once the esteemed class president of Kokuyo Junior High. He was arrested for killing twelve, including a seven-year old girl and Brutus of the Chiavarone family. By Vongola Nono's order, Masato Hitsuji is to die by your hands. The means do not matter."

Masato had been watching the two warily, but as Reborn spoke he broke into laughter.

"A-h," he said merrily. "So this brat in front of me is a Mafioso? He looks so weak!"

Tsuna shivered as the gleeful eyes tried to lock gazes with his own. It was disorienting how _cheerful_ Masato sounded, when only seconds before he looked like he was going to cry. "Reborn?" he asked softly, feeling sick. It seemed impossible for him to have been someone loved, someone cherished. "What—"

"I can hear you, brat," Masato called, sharp and biting. "But I suppose it doesn't matter. What happened? Kabane happened. _They _happened. What were their names again...? Kami? No, that's not right...oh. The glasses guy was called Kaki-pi or something."

"Chikusa?" Tsuna asked weakly. "But then, how did Mukuro—"

"_Do not say his name_," Masato hissed, pulling violently at the chains as if to try to break free. The metallic clatter made Tsuna wince.

"Masato," Reborn warned, shooting Masato a glare that quelled him instantly. With a sigh, the brunet leaned back and relaxed.

"Yes," Masato admitted idly, as if nothing had transpired. "Mu—it was there. He—_it_—took everything from me. He took my authority, undermined my efforts, and fooled me with some hocus pocus. So I ran away tried to get revenge."

Tsuna took a deep, shuddering breath. The way Masato spoke...It was as if the reason why Masato was about to be killed was of no importance. "Why did you kill others, then?"

Masato's face darkened instantly.

"You'd think the police would realize that_ it_ was behind the incident. That I wouldn't have done anything if not for _it_. Because after all, Mukuro is a criminal, is he not?" Masato shook his head in disgust. "But naturally, the police overlooked the fact that _it_ is a criminal, and allowed_ it_ to slip into the school as Kabame and framed me instead. Police? They are useless, if criminals can outwit and outfight them. So I decided to make my own move instead. But then, I hear from this Dino guy that _it_ and its gang had been caught and sent to a mafia prison. By a candidate for a mafia boss, no less. I thought, well, the police are useless shits if they have to rely on criminals to catch other criminals for them. Instead, they try to hunt the innocent civilians. Which is crap, wouldn't you agree? So I was mad. Mad at the fact that I couldn't pay _it_ back, and mad at the fact that I'm to be arrested. So I thought, since I'm mad and I can't drag _it_ down to hell, then I should do the world a favor and get rid of some useless shits...you know?"

His smile was chillingly wide.

"I didn't plan to kill them at first. But the police were just so fucking stubborn, so fucking _irritating_. The one I disarmed just wouldn't shut up, so I shut him up myself. And then the others were all yelling...it was so _loud_, you know? So loud, so annoying. Anyone would want to shut them up, so I did. It was so easy getting away from them. They were confused, so I ran. And I hid for the next few days, getting rid of more shits, before the Dino guy comes to confront me. It's so sad that it was the _Mafia_ that caught me, not the police. But I fought. It was funny when I shot Brutus; the look on Dino's face! He seemed so angry, so intent on capturing me...for _revenge_, you know?" Masato snickered. "Then I'm sent to a Mafia prison instead of an ordinary one. To think that the police don't even hold criminals in their jails these days! And then I'm told that I'm sentenced to death for killing a Mafioso, even though Mafiosi kill other Mafiosi without any punishment. Because it's natural, they say. Natural that Mafiosi could take each other's lives but ordinary citizens cannot because we had the sense not to join some crappy criminal syndicate that allows crimes to happen behind their protective walls. And then I'm told that a teen will kill me—the same teen that took Mukuro away from me. And I thought, well fuck life. I meet one Mafioso, and then my entire life falls apart." Masato laughed maniacally. "But of course, that's okay, because it's nothing but a long nightmare. If it isn't, then it doesn't matter anyway. I'd rather die than live in a world where wrong is right and right is wrong."

"You monster." Tsuna's voice shook with anger—anger from Brutus's death, and at the calm dismissal of the other murders. "How could you kill innocent civilians?"

"—says the next leader of the largest criminal organization in the world." Masato regarded him in amusement. "I suppose you mean the girl. It was her fault for being there, watching the fight with wide eyes. If she really didn't want to die, she would have run away, right? But instead she just stood there, so I shot her."

Tsuna looked away, feeling sick. There was no reasoning with the madman. How could he had ever thought otherwise? On habit he turned to Reborn for guidance; the hitman lifted a silver gun wordlessly and twirling it in his fingers.

Tsuna paled at the sight. Ah, he had forgotten why he was here. How could Masato's words be so distracting?

And somehow, despite listening to the story, Tsuna still couldn't bring himself to consider shooting the brunet chained down in front of him.

Masato snorted as he watched the duo's silent exchange. "So, when are you going to kill me?"

Tsuna stiffened. "I won't."

The former Kokuyo student rolled his eyes. "Spare me your denial. We both know that neither of us can leave this area until you kill me. At this rate, you'd be out here all night."

Tsuna looked away.

"I already know that I'm going to die," Masato added with a shrug. "It doesn't really matter to me either way."

Reborn tossed the gun into the air, the weapon clattering onto the ground loudly in the deafening silence. It spun against the rocks, only coming to a halt when it hit Tsuna's shoes.

"Shoot him," Reborn demanded quietly.

Tsuna gritted his teeth. "I can't —"

"Tsuna." Reborn's voice cut through the air like a knife. "Pick up the gun, _now._"

With a low grumble, he obliged, bending down low to lift the weapon. Suddenly he was too aware of the scene around him; he could hear the low roaring of the river, and he could smell the scent of wood and leaves. The cliff towered over Masato ominously, the shadow large and overbearing.

The gun rested comfortably in his hand, as if it had been designed for his grip. Slowly he slipped his fingers into position, careful to angle the barrel away from both him and Masato in the process.

He lifted his arm and carefully took aim.

As much as he loathed the thought of it, he believed that Masato should die. The teen had killed others in cold blood, because they were just being 'irritating.' Masato was practically insane, and there wasn't a place for him to go if Tsuna decided to spare him.

Plus, Masato himself had said that he didn't care whether he lived or died. While Masato hadn't explicitly stated it, Tsuna had heard enough to know that dying would be a release from the bitter reality Masato faced.

Surely it would excuse Tsuna's actions...?

Tsuna couldn't forgive Masato for what he had done. Although he was a victim, Masato could have made other choices—choices that could have, would have, led to a happier ending. Instead, Masato had chosen to kill police officers, a several innocent bystanders, and Brutus of the Chiavarone. Although Tsuna did not know Brutus very well, he had thought that Brutus was a kind person, and certainly he hadn't deserved to die by the hands of a psychopath.

Tsuna took another deep breath, trying to still his hammering heart. Suddenly he felt tired, unbelievably tired, as all the energy drained from his body. His hands were shaking; his body was trembling; his breaths were uneven and strained.

He just wanted to go home.

Now that he was in position to shoot, he couldn't understand how Reborn could be so horribly nonchalant. While the movement sounded as simple as pulling a trigger, in reality it was no easy feat. To think that Reborn killed as a job, as his life, made him tremble.

Masato leered at him. His eyes were no longer hazy and unfocused; they regarded Tsuna with a sharp, calculating clarity.

There was no fear or regret.

"You're shaking," Masato noted calmly, and Tsuna stepped back. His hands were slick with sweat, and he resisted the urge to wipe them across his dusty pants. His finger hovered over the trigger, trying and not trying to pull. The weight of a life resisted him, and his finger wouldn't budge.

Tsuna didn't respond.

"You know," Masato said conversationally, "I believe that all humans are, somewhere deep inside them, nothing but animalistic monsters. Everybody has the urge to hurt, to harm, to injure someone in their lifetime, and there are no exceptions. Everybody is selfish, greedy, and would only act out of his or her own self-interest. Take Mukuro, for example. He wanted to gain control of the entire school for another reason, undoubtedly concerned with the mafia. Take me. I wanted, and still want, revenge. Take you. Reborn told me that you want to protect your friends. But is that for your friends' benefit? Or is it for your own, to make sure you don't suffer from the guilt or grief caused by their deaths?"

"N—No—"

"Or is it because you don't want them to disappear? Because you don't want them to leave, leaving you lonely? Whatever the reason, your actions are purely based off of self-benefit. Why else would you care so much?"

Tsuna flinched. "They're my—"

"Friends?" Masato laughed oddly. "Friends betray you when you lose your value. Friends are quick to leave when you mess up. Friends are made to be _used_, made to be discarded like trash as soon as something goes wrong. Mark my words, brat—your friends exist to betray you."

"Shut up!"

The sound of a gunshot echoed through the air. Tsuna's arm snapped back from the recoil, and the gun fell to the ground with a crack. Warm, wet liquid splattered against his shirt, his cheeks, his pants.

Tsuna's eyes widened in shock and horror.

No—he'd just been angry—his fingers just twitched—_he hadn't meant to—_!

Masato lay against the rocks, blood dribbling from his open mouth. Crimson flowers bloomed across his shirt, over his bleeding heart.

The red mouth moved.

"I told you," Masato murmured serenely. "You said that I'm a monster, but are you any different?"

His eyes became blank and unfocused, and with a final mocking smile, Masato died.

With a scream, Tsuna fell to his knees and retched.

He had _killed_. He wasn't any different from Masato; he wasn't any different from all the serial killers that existed in the world. He had killed; he was tainted; he was dirty; and nothing he could do could get rid of the sinful crime.

A black and yellow fedora entered the side of his vision. Reborn's voice, almost soft, was vague and distant, barely registering in his mind. "We're done here for today. Let's go home, Tsuna."

Tsuna didn't move.

A dark trickle caught his attention. He stared at it curiously, only to shudder in horror as he realized what it was.

It was blood; it was everywhere. It had splattered against the rocks; it was spreading across the ground; it was seeping into the river cutting close behind him. Tsuna scrambled forward, desperate to keep away from the reddening water, but stopped as he inched closer to Masato's corpse. The forceful stench of metallic, iron blood filled his nostrils and churned his stomach, but there was nothing that he could do, nothing that he could do.

A familiar weight settled onto his head—Reborn. Tsuna shivered involuntarily as he realized that a murderer was sitting in his hair.

"Let's go, Tsuna," Reborn repeated. "Remember: as long as you don't tell anyone—as long as no one knows—nothing happened here."

* * *

_Kabane: _in the Hidden Bullet novels, Mukuro acted as Masato's best friend through the identity of 'Kabane.' Eventually he 'betrayed' Masato when 'Mukuro' (Lancia), Chikusa, and Ken obtained power within the school, effectively taking over Kokuyo.


	3. Chapter 3

**Sylanica: ** There is a reason why Reborn would make Tsuna kill, a reason that is not stated in the first chapter. I didn't arbitrarily choose the time frame of this story, nor did I arbitrarily choose what characters are involved.

Thanks to **ShamelessDilettante **for beta'ing!

* * *

If it took hours to walk to the cliff, it took days to walk back.

Tsuna stopped in front of the Sawada residence, hand pausing on the front door. It was dark; no lights were on within the house, and Nana was most likely already asleep. He didn't recall the walk back to the house. His mind had been on autopilot, and Tsuna knew better than to even think about the blood and the cliff if he wanted to keep his sanity intact.

But everything was just so _numb_. It was as if he was completely detached from his body; he was taking in everything yet nothing at the same time. He could see the warm silvery glow of the moon, hear the flapping of the birds overhead, but he couldn't seem to feel anything, register anything, not in the dull black and white and red world.

"I'm home," he whispered.

The door creaked open, and Tsuna leaned tiredly against the door frame. After all that had happened, it seemed like nothing had changed, and somehow it seemed so insulting and so laughable that he wanted to cry. But he shoved his mind away from the thoughts, and pushed himself away from the wall and began to climb up the stairs.

Reborn hopped off his head, leaving without a word. Tsuna didn't care. The farther Reborn was from him, the better. Tsuna wanted nothing to do with an assassin, who killed regularly for a job. He wanted nothing to do with a person, who could routinely snuff out a life as easily as one could blow out a candle. And Reborn was a _monster_, that's what he was—a killer, a murderer, worse than Tsuna could ever be.

Every shadow seemed to flicker and twitch as he moved by, and he was struck by the insane thought that they were watching him. He could feel eyes on him, assessing his every move, wondering what he would do next. The walls seemed so foreign, so dark, he bit on his lips tightly as he forced himself to take a step, just one after another.

But then his foot slipped slightly on the stairs, generating a loud creak, loud like a gunshot and _no he couldn't, shouldn't, think about it_. Tsuna halted, eyes darting around rapidly. Oh god, if Lambo and I-pin had heard—he didn't want to consider what they would think if they saw him, bloodied and silent, trying to sneak around the house like the madman he was.

The stairs had never seemed so agonizingly long.

And then he was at the top of the stairs, staring blankly at a closed door. Nana, Nana was on the other side of the door, sleeping peacefully like it was just any other day. He didn't want to see her, not now, not when he felt so _dirty_. He knew he shouldn't feel that way though, because it was an accident—he hadn't meant to, it wasn't done with his own intention. It was merely an accident, a slip of his finger, it wasn't his fault that Masato had been there right in front of him.

That's right. It wasn't his fault.

His hand was moving, to his horror, and it rested on the door handle and pushed it down against his will. No, stop, he wanted to say, but his hand was moving on its own accord now, and so were his legs; they carried him forward even though he didn't want to look in, but his mind registered everything anyway. The silvery moonlight cascaded past the drawn curtains, illuminating just enough for Tsuna to make out the obstacles on the ground. He could see Nana lying innocently on the bed, her features softened by sleep.

He suddenly felt the strangest urge to shake her, to wake her. If he told her, surely she would understand. She would cry, yes, but she would undoubtedly listen. He could picture it in his mind: she would wrap her loving arms around him as he spilled his story, his secrets—_everything_ that had occurred ever since Reborn first stepped foot past the door.

He lifted his hand almost absently. Five inches, four inches…

He froze.

Tsuna found himself berating himself loudly in his mind. He simply _couldn't_. He couldn't wake her up, not now, not when he was still drenched in Masato's blood. As airheaded Nana was, shecouldn't possibly overlook the red splotches staining his clothes. One look would be all it would take. She would scream, horrified that her son was nothing but a _murderer_, and would stare at her with eyes full of fear and hate. She would run to the phone, dial the police, and send him away.

He didn't want to leave her.

Nana seemed to embody everything that he had ever wanted. She was kind and loving, never seen without a smile on her face. She was always so _cheerful_, so _kind_, and so painfully innocent. She was what had kept Tsuna going, no matter what the difficulty; her rewarding smiles were always worth the effort he placed in school. Her ignorance provided the barest sense of normalcy, despite all of the chaos occurring daily.

She was the person he wanted to protect the most from his bitter reality.

His fingers twitched horribly, and instantly he was standing beneath the cliff again. Standing there, trembling, arm shaking from a combination of rage and fear. The sound of the gunshot once more reverberated through his head, and it was all he could do to stifle his choked scream.

He backed up shakily, wrapping his arms protectively around his sides. Suddenly he couldn't bear to see Nana anymore, so he turned around quickly and headed for his room.

Tsuna reached his room without incident, and he shut the door behind him. He couldn't seem to get rid of the thought that the door was now soiled by his fingertips. He moved past his bed, gratefully noting that Reborn was nowhere in sight. Slowly he pulled open his closet, grabbing at the first pair of clothes that he touched before heading straight to the bathroom.

Tsuna made certain that he had locked the door, before turning to the mirror with shadowed eyes. He looked like a mess. Red and pink tracks smeared his cheeks where blood and tears had mixed. Still more streaked below his eyelids, caused when he had rubbed his eyes in an attempt to stop the tears from flowing. His lips were crimson; he ran his tongue over his lips and realized belatedly that he had bitten down too hard.

The acrid taste of blood made him want to retch.

As the water began to warm, Tsuna methodically slipped out of his clothes. His shirt and pants went in one corner; he didn't want Nana to see the blood. After a brief pause, the rest of his clothes were added. The less he saw of those clothes, the better.

The warm water battered against his bare skin as he stepped into the shower. His body relaxed slightly beneath the gentle downpour. He rubbed at his cheeks, relishing the feeling of the water sliding down his face and body, flowing into the abyss hidden by the hungry drains.

He grabbed at the bar of soap, scrubbing at his skin over and over again until he was certain it was raw. Clean, he thought—he needed to be clean. He rinsed his face, his fingers, his hands over and over but he could still feel the splotch of blood against his cheeks. He could still feel Reborn's fingers, intertwined in his hair, those hands that have singularly killed hundreds or even thousands of men—

With a muffled cry of frustration he raked his face with his nails, ignoring the flare of pain. Anything was better than that warm, sticky sensation; anything was better than that red coppery scent. He wanted desperately to get it off, to get it _away_, but that sickly scent seemed to be engraved into the forefront of his mind.

He fumbled for the soap again—he'd wash it off one more time—

A knock sounded sharply on the door.

The soap promptly slipped from his fingers, and Tsuna nearly cried out in shock. Then he realized where he was and clamped his mouth shut, flicking off the shower as he strained to listen past the dripping of the water onto the tiled floor.

"Hold on!" Tsuna injected as much impatience as he could into his voice, but it only sounded dead to his ears.

He yanked the towel and rapidly dried himself, pausing briefly to rub his head one, two, three, four times. Hastily he pulled on his clothes, wrapping his towel around the stained articles by the door.

Lambo was blinking blearily on the other side when Tsuna stepped out.

"Lambo-san needs to go—"

Tsuna didn't stay to listen, but instead turned and nearly ran away. He was carrying so much _dirtiness_ in his hands; he needed to drop it now. The door to his bedroom banged open and he couldn't bring himself to care as he looked around frantically. There, his closet, but even as he made a move to throw his clothes into the corner he remembered that Nana frequently went through it to put his clothes away. So he pulled back and threw them under the bed instead.

The toilet flushed, and he all but threw the covers over his head. The covers were so familiar, but he couldn't bring himself to enjoy the warmth that they provided. Not when he could practically see the bundle beneath his bed, less than a foot away, as a painful reminder of what had transpired earlier that night.

How was he supposed to sleep?

Even as the thought passed through his head, he could feel the sleepiness weighing down his eyelids. He was tired, so tired, but every time he closed his eyes all he could see was black and endless swamps of red.

But as time continued to tick by, even his mind faded to nothingness.

* * *

He was sitting in on the school roof, chatting amicably with his friends. Gokudera was thinking aloud about the latest spotting of a UFO, while Yamamoto was laughing along. Grinning, he stood up and announced that he was going to buy a small box of juice.

But as he turned to leave, cold skin brushed against the nape of his neck. Then brown hair entered his vision, matted down with red.

"_Hey, brat,"_ Masato purred. _"Are you any different?"_

The once lanky body bent grotesquely, sliding to the ground with a dull thud. Organs spilled from the gaping hole cut deep into the corpse's chest. Crimson pooled around his shoes, and sticky drops rained down from the bleeding clouds, drumming against his skin almost caressingly.

Through the red haze he could barely see Gokudera and Yamamoto, their eyes filled with fear and disgust. In the distance, Reborn stood solemnly, black eyes shining with a glimpse of pride and triumph.

"_Your friends exist to betray you,"_ Masato's corpse laughed, blank eyes rolling deep into its sockets, tears of blood trailing down the hollowed, decaying cheeks.

Tsuna woke up screaming.

He twisted savagely in his bed, the blankets wrapping his body tighter and tighter until he couldn't breathe. Trapped, his mind shrieked, and he kicked harder, desperate to get free of the suffocating embrace. He nearly managed to get himself free of the suffocating embrace before another hand, smaller and surer, gently touched his head.

"Calm down," Reborn's voice said.

Dear god, he had forgotten that Reborn slept in his room. He jerked back until he slammed painfully against the headboard, but it was okay, as long as he got away from the touch, away from those tainted fingers.

"Go away!"

He nearly cursed aloud the moment the words slipped unbidden from his lips. Oh god, he shouldn't have said that, surely Reborn was plotting a violent consequence behind that unsuspecting face for his outburst.

But thankfully Reborn capitulated, moving backwards one step, two steps. Still too close. Tsuna ignored the dark look Reborn sent him, and instead pressed his back harder against the headboard as he drew his arms around his knees.

Reborn swept his eyes up and down Tsuna's body, and Tsuna found himself shrinking away from the empty gaze.

The baby spoke. "Maman has breakfast ready for you downstairs. Go and eat."

"I'm not hungry."

Distantly he was surprised that he managed to utter a complete sentence at all. His stomach was in knots, and he suspected that forcing any food in would only result in it coming back out. Hopefully Nana wouldn't worry about his sudden aversion for food; he couldn't bear to face her again after the previous night.

Chills raced down his back, and with it came cold, wet skin.

His breath hitched as he screwed his eyes shut—calm, he needed to remain calm. Reborn was still watching him, assessing him, seeing how much he could take before he broke. His skin was itching, and he desperately needed to scratch his face to reassure himself that the blood was not there, not anymore, not when it had been there less than twelve hours ago since—

Calm, he reminded himself. Stay calm.

His mind slid to the bathroom door. God, he needed a bath—anything to clean him of the feel of Masato's teasing caress. He cut the thought away abruptly—why couldn't he stop _thinking_—and focused on breathing in and out, in and out, until he was certain he would not retch.

Reborn was still watching him, unreadable, when Tsuna opened his eyes again.

"I understand," was the baby's reply, and before Tsuna could blink he had turned around and started to walk away. The door clicked shut behind him, and the instant Reborn was gone Tsuna tore himself free of his comforter.

He stumbled to his door, fumbling with the lock until it finally clicked shut. A small exhale of relief escaped his lips; that made one locked door between him and Reborn. But then he remembered the endless stash of weapons Reborn had, and his stomach dropped. Locks weren't good enough. They would never be good enough.

The walls of his lungs constricted painfully, and he slid the ground trembling. He couldn't do anything without Reborn's knowledge. The other had such a powerful hold over his daily life, and he hated hated hated it. There had to be something he could do to isolate himself—something, anything!

Wracking his mind he absently opened his drawers and dug out a fresh pair of clothes. His hand hesitated briefly on the door before decidedly unlocking it. He stepped through, peaking around the corner to ensure that no one was around before creeping to the bathroom and locking the door.

The light flicked on, and he quickly stripped and stepped into the shower. A twist, and warm water drummed against his skin almost comfortingly, splattering at his feet—

He shoved his fist into his mouth before he could scream.

Stop, stop, stop, he thought, and he blindly groped for the knob. More warm liquid rushed down his skin, drowning him, and he couldn't breathe. His hand twisted the other direction and the shower turned off with a final spurt, as if laughing loudly at his panic.

God, what was _wrong _with him? It was just water, just a shower! He _needed_ it, it wasn't as if it was blood or anything—

Suddenly he needed to get out.

Shivering he exited the shower, nails digging deep into his arms as he fought to stay calm calm calm. His trembling hand guided the towel around his body, and he attempted to put on his shirt three times before slipping his limbs into the correct holes.

Reborn was not waiting for him when he walked outside, and he almost laughed at the thought. Of course he wasn't, he thought bitterly.

However, someone else was.

"Ah, good morning Tsu-kun," Nana said sweetly.

He froze. "M-Mom."

He almost preferred Reborn to stand in front of him instead. He wasn't ready for this, not now, not when he still felt so trapped and hurt from the panic in the showers. His thumping heart filled his ears with nothing but the suicidal pace of the beats.

Her gaze was so obscenely cheerful that he suddenly felt like punching the door. It was nearly insulting how her clueless gaze skipped right over him, not noticing anything wrong with his countenance. He felt so tainted, so different, so why couldn't she _see_? But then he realized that her denseness may be a good thing, because she wouldn't recognize anything was wrong.

With this revelation his breathing slowed minutely, and he finally began to absorb his surroundings. Nana was carrying a basket of dirty clothes to wash and dry on the balcony. When she noticed him staring at the pile, she smiled and gestured slightly.

"Put your clothes here," she said. "I can wash them then."

The first impulse Tsuna had was no, he could not let her touch his shirt. His grip tightened on the sweaty fabric, prepared to take it back to his room, but then Nana might realize that something was wrong. He hesitated for another fraction of a second before dropping his clothes into the basket.

Nana smiled again. "Are you going to school, Tsu-kun?"

Right. He had school today.

"I—I don't feel well." It wasn't a lie.

Her sorrel eyes flickered briefly in concern. "Is that so? I'll cook soup for lunch after I finish washing these clothes. You should rest until then."

Tsuna nodded slowly in return. Forcing a grin, he thanked her and began to make his way to his room. His stomach dropped, because why would she call him again? He steeled himself for the worst before turning around to meet her stare.

She was standing by the door, the basket still gripped firmly in her hand. "I'm going to go shopping later, since we are nearly out of food. Is there anything you want?" Tsuna stared at her blankly before shaking his head. "Oh, and there's a newspaper on your bed. Something about a murderer running loose on the streets. If you want to go out in the afternoon, remember to be careful."

Tsuna stiffened as she talked, jolting when she said the word mur—the 'm' word. Because it couldn't be, could it? His heart was hammering, and he barely noticed when Nana finally stepped out of his sight and onto the balcony.

He turned around and ran.

The newspaper was lying on the bed when he walked into his room. Raising an eyebrow, he stepped forward and ran his hand over the grimy paper, revolted by how the ink seemed to cling to his skin. The words, bold and insistent, made his heart grow cold.

_Murder in Namimori Forest_

_By Kurokawa Yori_

_Last night at 11 pm, a body was found beneath the cliffs by the river deep in Namimori forest._

"_It was the scariest thing I've seen," a witness reported. _

_The body was identified to be a fifteen-year old boy named Masato Hitsuji. He was the previous Student Council President of Kokuyo Middle School, before he was arrested for killing 11 and injuring 37. _

_According to the police, he was handed to an impenetrable prison in Italy, who sentenced him to life behind bars. They refused to comment when asked how Masato was found bound to the rocks in a forest not far from his hometown._

_The witness, along with his group of friends, was camping in the forest when he allegedly saw a body dangling beneath the cliffs. Shortly after, he notified the police, who then identified his body and searched for clues of the perpetrator. _

"_He was shot in the heart," a police officer reported. "It was a clean hit; he was dead within seconds."_

_The police are still trying to investigate this case and obtain clues about Masato's murderer. All civilians are advised to take precautions to remain safe in the coming days._

Tsuna set the newspaper down with trembling fingers.

How had he been so _stupid_? He had just assumed that Masato's corpse was going to be cleaned up, but had never asked. He should have thought, he should have known, that of course Reborn wouldn't go through the trouble of inconveniencing himself or any others with a bloody corpse.

And now everybody would know that he had killed—

He stood up, staggering as his knees threatened to give way beneath him. The room was swaying frighteningly, his heart was throwing itself painfully against his ribcage and his head hurt, it hurt so much. He needed to leave the house, to get away from Nana before his touch broke her to pieces and tainted her irreparably.

He stumbled to the door, blindly pushing away Lambo's insistent tugging on his pants legs. Stop, he wanted to scream, just stop. But he couldn't, and his mouth couldn't move, and his body just barely avoided collision with the front door.

He needed to get away, far away, before he soiled not only Nana but Lambo, I-pin, and his other friends—

But no.

Tears traced down his cheeks, hot and painful and disgustingly wet. If he stepped outside, everybody would look at him, and he couldn't bear to see their disgust and fear imprinted deep into their faces. Because everybody would _know_, just by looking at him, that he was a _murderer_, and that he was the killer every person in Namimori had been advised to look out for. Gokudera would scowl, Yamamoto would frown, Ryohei would fall silent, and most of all Haru and Kyoko would look at him, hurt and betrayed. He couldn't have that; he couldn't bear to be looked at like that; he just _couldn't_ leave.

He wiped his tears away, inwardly recoiling at how easily it smeared across his cheeks. It was like feeling the blood all over again, running down his cheeks and mixing with sweat and tears until it became a horrid pink mix.

Calm, he thought. Calm.

Lambo was standing by Tsuna's feet, staring wide-eyed at his crying older brother. Tsuna couldn't break down now, not when Lambo clearly understood something was wrong. God, he would have preferred it if the cow was his usual obnoxious self, screaming and yelling and throwing grenades. At least he wouldn't have to feel so self-conscious, so exposed, so helpless.

Tsuna took a shuddering breath and turned around. Everything was alright. He managed to brush past Lambo, staring fixedly at the wall in front of him in fear that he would see the child and just fall into pieces again. Lambo didn't know, but that was only because he was too young to recognize the symptoms of a murderer.

Once in his room, he locked the door shut and methodically tore the newspaper to shreds. Rip went the sheets, the crisp sounds of crinkling paper almost music to his ears. One by one as they floated down to settle in the base of his half-full trashcan.

No one else needed to see. No one else needed to know.

When the last shred of paper was buried satisfactorily, he slipped into the covers and cried.

It wasn't his fault.

It wasn't his fault.


	4. Chapter 4

**Psychopaths: **There is one necessary OC for the story (Kurokawa Yori), but other than that there are none. The girl in red and the boy in brown will be introduced later, but yes, they are canon characters in the anime for KHR.

Thanks to **ShamelessDilettante** for beta'ing!

**Obligatory warnings: **Gory descriptions.

* * *

That night, Reborn revisited his room.

Which was such a silly thought, Tsuna thought wildly, because Reborn slept in his room in the first place. It seemed so stupid to believe that he could actually avoid the baby by curling tightly in his bed.

Tsuna gathered his covers protectively around him, shrinking into the headboard as the murderer approached closer and closer. All the initial calm he had gained from the day was gone; the sight of Reborn plunged him into panic and he just wanted Reborn to stop coming. He desperately wanted Reborn to start sleeping in another room—preferably Lambo's and I-pin's—but the request would definitely not be accepted for whatever reason Reborn would undoubtedly make up.

Reborn paused at the edge of his bed, eyeing Tsuna blankly. Leon was mercifully still in its chameleon form, twined around the fedora and blinking almost lazily up at him. But Reborn had so many other guns, actual guns, and Tsuna was unwilling to get his hopes up in case they were once again shattered to a million tiny fragments.

Looking at Reborn made him once more drown in waves of betrayal and helpless rage. Despite Reborn's heartlessness, he had _trusted_ Reborn to make sure that no one would know of his crime. He had _trusted_ that the incident with Masato would be strictly confidential between him and Reborn. It was now devastatingly clear that he had been wrong to trust Reborn, and had always been wrong in deciding to confide all of his secrets with the tiny assassin—at least, the ones that Reborn didn't already know.

More than the torture, more than the pain, it _hurt._

The grim look in Reborn's eyes was dark and unhappy, and Tsuna was worried that Reborn would try to take it out on him in his rage. It was always like that; whenever Reborn was remotely upset, Leon would shift into bombs or hammers and Reborn would beat him until he was bruised and bleeding. The brunet fixed on Leon, another part of his mind vaguely noting that Reborn had yet to move.

"Because of the recent police involvement," Reborn began expressionlessly, "we are putting the training on hold. After everything dies down, we will begin target practice and Dying Will Flame training."

Tsuna laughed shrilly. "Target practice on what, Reborn? Humans? Animals?"

Reborn's eyes flickered, and he paused briefly. "Moving targets, Tsuna. Moving, _inanimate_ objects."

Tsuna didn't answer. Reborn was lying, that was all; most likely he was just making sure he didn't run away before the training was over. His word couldn't be trusted, and Tsuna found himself wondering why he had bothered to ask in the first place.

Reborn had been waiting for a reaction, and sighed when he received none. "Eventually you'll have to go back to school," he warned. "Don't get too comfortable inside the house. Gokudera and Yamamoto called today when they heard that you were sick. Do you want to talk to them?"

Tsuna suddenly felt like he was back to the first day, the day when everything had changed. Scared. Trapped. He couldn't tell them now, he simply couldn't. They would leave him, they would, and he couldn't bear it if they did, even if he was a murderer.

"_Your friends exist to betray you_,_"_ Masato had said.

"No," he said in a small voice. "I—I can't, not now." His voice died away, and he fought to keep the dry sobs stuck in his throat.

Reborn nodded, as if he expected that.

"You'll have to see them eventually, Dame-Tsuna. If you don't want them to know, get your act up by then."

Tsuna nodded stiffly. He didn't need any reminding.

* * *

One week.

That was the most that Reborn had been willing to let Tsuna stay home from school. To the rest of the household, he was ill, and it helped that he looked ill too. There were constant bags beneath his eyes, a product of sleepless nights, and his skin had taken a pallid color. Unfortunately, his sick demeanor did not stop Lambo and I-pin from regularly attempting to blow up his house. By the end of the seventh day, he was sick of hearing explosions ringing in his ears, and was ready to throw something at them in return for some peace and quiet where he could brood in silence.

Tsuna sat at the breakfast table, chewing the food in silence. It was hard to believe that he had once eaten for the sake of enjoyment. Everything tasted the same: bland, bitter, bordering on disgusting. Anything was fine as long as it did not taste like—like blood.

He went out of his way to select a long-sleeved shirt, trying to hide as much as his body as possible. Despite the heater inside the house, he always felt strangely cold. That, and that he really didn't want to touch anybody if he could help it, or else he'd taint them with his touch.

He had stopped visiting the shower regularly after the nightmare. Despite his dying urge to clean clean clean, he couldn't bear the feel of warm wet fingers pounding lightly against his skin. Turning the water cold helped marginally, but it left him with a shivering headache afterwards. He had initially tried to avoid the water altogether, but had found himself feeling so sweaty and stinky and _dirty_ that he had to acquiesce to the need.

Today would be the first time he went outside since he went out _that_ night. That night where blood painted the rocks, the sky, and the water in its sanguine hue.

He grimaced as he looked at the mirror. The bags had yet to leave their new spot beneath his eyes, and it made his face seem so hollow and gaunt. His eyes seemed darker, older, and he was _scared—_scared that his friends would notice and worry and then find out. And when they found out, they would how tainted their boss really was and leave.

Apparently Reborn had notified Gokudera and Yamamoto that he would be going back to school, because he could hear the duo arguing lightly from beyond his closed door. He closed his eyes—calm calm calm—and he walked to the door as evenly as possible. Smile, he thought, and he quickly plastered a grin onto his face.

The moment the door opened the two voices stopped, and he slipped outside with as much normalcy as he could muster.

"Juudaime!" Gokudera's voice was laced with relief and eagerness. Both teens were standing by the entrance, beyond the closed gate, still bandaged from the fight against the Kokuyo. The silver-haired teen quickly ran his eyes over Tsuna, as if to see if he was alright, and Tsuna found himself sweating and wishing he was anywhere but near his friends. "Are you okay?"

Right. He had said he was ill. Tsuna nodded and grinned widely, "I'm fine."

They walked to school together at their usual pace, but Tsuna felt as if they took hours.

Every step was torture. An endless stream of people seemed to pass him, their gazes drifting onto and past him. He could feel every set of eyes, watching, judging, analyzing the world around them, and any moment someone would pull out their cell phone and dial the police. He felt so naked and exposed—he was so dirty, so tainted, it seemed impossible that someone would _not_ notice him for what he was. They were all watching, evaluating, wondering about the chance that the murderer would drag them off screaming into the cliffs and slaughtering without a care.

Every moment presented another chance that someone would _see_. Every moment presented the chance that someone would scream, point at him, and then every set of eyes would be upon him and his bloodied hands. Then Gokudera and Yamamoto would turn around, betrayal and disgust shining heavily in their eyes, before turning around and walking away as the police dragged him away screaming…

By the time they arrived at school, Tsuna was little more than a nervous wreck.

He stared at the front gates apprehensively as students continued to skirt past him. Stepping into the campus after _that_ seemed like a huge step, and he already knew he couldn't bear the judgmental gazes of his classmates. Tsuna opened his mouth hesitantly and looked at his friends when he noticed their blatant concern for his silence.

"Are you alright?" Yamamoto repeated for the tenth time that day, and Tsuna stopped and tried to prevent himself from falling apart. They don't know, he whispered viciously in his mind, as he tried to compose himself because he had to look absolutely horrible for Yamamoto of all people to notice.

The opened mouth paused briefly, before shutting in a reassuring smile.

"I'm fine."

Which was a lie, but Yamamoto accepted the answer nonetheless. Tsuna felt a large burden slide off of his chest as the baseball player turned his attention elsewhere.

People greeted him as they walked in the hallways: some cheerful, others mocking, still others barely cordial. For the first time that day he felt relieved that Gokudera and Yamamoto were beside him; their presence drove many of his bullies away. Even so they did little to ease his growing anxiety.

A hand clapped him on the shoulder, and his worries and fears instantly condensed onto the foreign unwanted object. Tsuna suppressed a scream—he couldn't blow it, not here not now—and instead focused on knocking the limb away. He jerked around, preparing to fight if necessary, before meeting calm brown eyes.

Yamamoto's eyes were uncharacteristically serious and Tsuna wanted nothing more than to pull back and run away, but then the suspicion no doubt brewing in the tall teen would only rise. He couldn't have that, no matter what.

So he forced a smile, "Yamamoto-san! What was that for?"

The seriousness melted into something warmer. "Our classroom is here."

Gokudera launched into an unneeded rant about Yamamoto being too friendly with Tsuna, but the brunet couldn't bring himself to care enough to focus. He had slipped up again, and how many more could he do before anybody else got suspicious? None, he concluded, because throughout his rant Gokudera occasionally cast worried glances at him. He couldn't mess up again.

He needed to be normal.

Stepping into the classroom brought a wave of taunts and teases from his fellow classmates, but Gokudera's appearance quelled all but the bravest of them. Most were still terrified of the bomber due to his attitude; if only they knew that Gokudera had bomb and was a murderer, Tsuna mused.

His blood chilled, and he looked away.

Mochida's sneering voice was still audible past the roar in his ears. The kendo captain had not taken lightly to his humiliating defeat, back when Tsuna had first met Reborn, and still persisted on making his school life hell. Tsuna wasn't sure why he was inside his classroom, but school technically hadn't started yet, and there was no rule against it. He wished there was.

"Ah, look," Mochida drawled. "Dame-Tsuna's finally decided to stop ditching again. Did you finally understand last week's assignment?"

Tsuna said nothing as he walked to his seat. Nothing Mochida said mattered; Reborn easily overstepped him in the 'Torture-the-Tsuna' department. It seemed strange to think that once his largest worry was Mochida shaming him in front of the entire school, or other bullies stealing his supplies.

Gokudera marched up to Mochida and dragged him to his feet, screaming obscenities into the latter's face. "Don't insult Juudaime!" Tsuna heard, and nearly jumped to his feet. Gokudera was already fingering his pockets, groping for his hidden bombs as if to kill him…

"Stop," he said loudly, and Gokudera paused. "Put him down."

"But he insulted you—"

"Put him down."

Gokudera tched in annoyance but capitulated, throwing Mochida roughly down by his feet. "If you dare insult Juudaime again—"

"Gokudera-kun."

Gokudera stormed back to his desk and sat down.

Mochida cast him a bitter and angry glower, as if demanding to know why Tsuna had interfered. Tsuna looked out the window in response, wishing for nothing more than to be able to leave the restricted prison that was the classroom. He sensed when the kendo captain left, undoubtedly after throwing a dirty glare in his direction, but was glad that the bully was finally gone.

Class resumed as usual, and as usual he found himself staring uncomprehendingly at the board. He felt strangely relaxed when a teacher called on him, when others began to laugh at him—anything that distracted his thoughts was a boon. After a week of recalling the…incident it lingered fresh in his mind, and he wanted nothing more than to forget, forget, and forget.

Lunch came, and Tsuna was out of the classroom first, heading decidedly to the roof.

The wind tugged lightly at his hair, and he relaxed in the grasp of the flowing wind. He had always enjoyed being on the roof, but never before had he felt so relieved. There was no one else besides him, and everything was empty and spread out; he could finally, _finally _let himself unwind after hours of drawn tension.

He lay down with a huff, trying to ease his strained muscles. No one was here; everything was fine and he could finally have some peace and quiet in his life—

Voices.

Tsuna sat up quickly, opening his lunch box and doing something, anything that looked like him and normal. He shoved some food into his mouth, grimacing at the familiarly bland taste that all food had taken recently.

The door opened, and Mochida walked out. Three other boys filed onto the roof after him, and he noted with apprehension that all four seemed rather unhappy. Mochida, undeniably the head honcho, walked right over to where Tsuna was sitting and smirked down acidly.

"Alone, are you Dame-Tsuna? Your friends leave you?"

Tsuna swallowed and ground his teeth. Masato's words lingered in the forefront of his mind, and he viciously pulled his attention away from the accursed words.

One bird flying by, two birds, three birds, four—

A blur, and then his food went flying across the ground. The bento box turned itself over and over until it finally slid to a halt by the fence surrounding the edges of the roof.

Tsuna looked up.

"Listen to me," Mochida snapped, moving his leg back. "Know your place. Don't get cocky just because Gokudera licks your shoes. No matter what, you are still Dame-Tsuna—a failure. If you were to disappear, no one would notice or care."

He looked down, trying to look anywhere but up at Mochida's face. He could feel the telltale burning of tears in his eyes, and his lips were trembling from an effort not to cry or to respond. Quickly, he begged silently, leave already—he wasn't sure how long he could keep himself from doing something, anything, in response to those words.

"Let's go," Mochida spat, kicking at Tsuna once more before exiting the roof.

The moment the door closed, Tsuna stood up and paced. He wanted to cry or scream, but Reborn would certainly learn of his breakdown and chide him as weak. God, why was he still affected so much? It had been a week already, he should be used to remembering the blood blood blood and the fear and Masato's words—No, stop, he reprimanded himself, and quickly busied himself with shoving the dropped food back into his bento as quickly as possible and retying it with the cloth.

Gokudera and Yamamoto arrived a few minutes later, giving him less than a second to regain his composure, before walking in and sitting down on the spots beside him. As quickly as he could he tried to blank his expression, and judging from their usual bickering he was doing a good job of it.

"Where were you?" Tsuna asked idly as they took out their lunches to eat. He had placed the bento down already, back inside his backpack.

Yamamoto grinned. "Haha, the teacher asked us to stay behind after class."

"For what?"

"Some stupid assignment," Gokudera scoffed.

Tsuna smiled and nodded, suppressing a small wave of anger and anxiety that rose. His intuition was saying otherwise, that no, the teacher had nothing to do with what they had stayed behind for. He wouldn't say it aloud—speaking it aloud would seem to give it more truth and conviction—but their absence _scared_ him. It almost seemed as if they had deliberately allowed Mochida to confront him alone, before coming up to the roof themselves to enjoy their lunch.

The rest of the lunch passed in a monotony. After another few minutes Gokudera broke out into a one-sided argument with Yamamoto, who in turn interjected his own laughs in response. Tsuna halfheartedly attempted to placate the two, but gave up as it became increasingly clear that his efforts were, as usual, going to end in vain. Again.

It was almost as if he wasn't there in the first place—

"_If you were to disappear, no one would notice or care—"_

"Excuse me," he muttered as he stood up. "I—I need to go."

He didn't look back as he fled from the open, back to the terrifying crowd.

* * *

Tsuna didn't want to sleep.

He was tired, desperately so. Before Reborn came, he had never been awake for over twenty-four hours. Even after the hitman arrived, he was still guaranteed at least a five to seven hour sleep.

Ever since the announcement, he hadn't been sleeping as soundly. He had spent hours wallowing in his bed, thinking and grumbling and then thinking some more. He had spent hours upon hours pondering what he could do to avoid the worst, and to somehow escape Reborn's hold.

The night he had first killed, he had gotten terrible nightmares, and he wasn't keen on experiencing them again. Even being awake felt like a nightmare, but at least reality wouldn't take unnaturally grotesque twists provided by Masato's death. Whenever he slept he had nightmares, and all of them left him shivering in his blanket and wishing for morning to come.

He didn't want to sleep, not now after experiencing a particularly horrifying one the night before. A couple days had passed since he had returned to school, and his nightmares depicted that. Because in his dream he had been standing over Mochida's body, cackling wildly, with sticky blood running down his face, shirt, and hands. A knife had been clutched in one hand, another gripped around a ropy intestine, tugging fervently as Mochida screamed. Elation ran through him, his body thrumming with savage pleasure, as he lovingly carved another chunk of skin and muscle from Mochida's gaping arm.

After waking up from that nightmare the night before, he had run to the bathroom and spent the next hour kneeling in front of the toilet. Out went his dinner, and everything he had eaten previously that day. He had scrabbled at the wall for support, trying to find anything steady, anything, as he fought to keep his stomach's contents inside.

Tsuna was scared, immensely so, by the implications of that dream. He had heard that dreams depicted subconscious thoughts, and if he was dreaming of torturing Mochida then that meant some part of his mind _enjoyed _killing, didn't it? That some part of his mind relished in the feeling of having all that blood, all that gore, in his hands, and enjoyed having others trembling by his feet? And that no matter what he said, what he thought, there was always some part of him that loved being a murderer?

Sleep would only bring more dreams, more nightmares, and he didn't want to see them. He didn't want to know what his subconscious was thinking: he hated violence, he hated it! There was no way he would ever do that, ever dream of that, even if Mochida did not treat him kindly…

…right?

Tsuna felt so lost, so confused, unsure of what to do. Reborn's presence was not helping his mind. He couldn't imagine how an assassin could be so painfully apathetic to something as large as taking another life. His mind was muddled and cloudy, and he had long since wondered if Reborn simply _enjoyed_ it. He envisioned Reborn, standing over the trembling body of a pleading man, laughing as he shot at the man's kneecaps and wrists with devastating accuracy…The idea sent waves of revulsion through his body and made him want to retch.

He wasn't like that, one side of his mind stated loudly. He wasn't like that, he wouldn't torture someone he wouldn't—!

But the other side of his mind laughed. He had said the same thing about killing, hadn't he? All those days ago, stating that he wouldn't kill? If he couldn't keep _that_ promise, the second voice cooed, what was to say that he would keep this one?

But who would enjoy the feel of blood blood blood, and enjoy the sight of organs spilling from shuddering and convulsing bodies…

Tsuna slid a trembling hand over his mouth, fighting to stop the bile from rising further.

He couldn't vomit, Reborn would hear—

Reborn was resting peacefully in his hammock, all worries numbed by rest. It seemed too cruel that Reborn seemed so _innocent _as he slept. Reborn had always been a deep sleeper, and Tsuna wondered if he could use that to his advantage. As long as he acted like he was asleep by dawn, Tsuna considered, then Reborn wouldn't notice.

Tsuna pulled the comforter tighter around him, curling into a ball. The shadows outside seemed to laugh in the moonlight.

It would be a long night.

* * *

A/N: Maybe I should raise the rating to M.


	5. Chapter 5

Thanks to **ShamelessDilettante **for being an amazing beta-reader!

* * *

"Tsuna-kun?"

Tsuna sighed mentally as he struggled to focus on the girl in front of her. The lack of sleep was affecting him badly, and he could barely bring himself to focus more than a few seconds at a time. He had nearly fallen asleep in the lecture; thankfully the teacher had chosen to call on him then, because he did not want to know what he would have done if he began to scream from the inevitable nightmares that sleep brought.

Kyoko watched him worriedly from her seat. He forced himself to pull himself together, but it was a fruitless effort. After another second of trying not to yawn he gave up, and he turned the full brunt of his bloodshot gaze on the girl.

"Sorry," he muttered. "Didn't sleep well last night." More like he didn't sleep at all, and hadn't been sleeping for more than an hour the past couple of days.

Kyoko nodded understandingly. "Still, you should go home and sleep. You look like you haven't slept in days."

Tsuna merely grumbled in response.

The two of them were sitting in the classroom. The lunch bell had sounded minutes ago, and Tsuna had left to use the restroom. When he had returned to the classroom, Gokudera and Yamamoto weren't there. Perhaps they thought he had gone up to the roof for lunch, but they still haven't found him. Tsuna had no motivation to go up to the roof; he felt so tired, and even the prospect of standing up seemed daunting.

Kyoko had been at her seat when he arrived, and had gestured for Tsuna to sit near her for lunch. A small part of Tsuna was glad for the invitation; the rest was either numbed by sleepiness or dreaded a direct confrontation. She was like Nana in her own way—endearingly dense, but wonderfully optimistic and cheerful in her own right. He hadn't wanted to see her after Masato's death in fear that she would reject him in the worst possible way once she found out.

Kyoko smiled, a simple act that seemed to brighten her entire face. She reached down and tugged at her backpack, saying, "You haven't eaten yet. Do you have your lunch?"

"It's in my bag," Tsuna slurred. "Could you—?"

"Hold on, I'll go get it."

Kyoko stood up and walked over to Tsuna's desk, picking up the entire bag and carrying it over to the brunet. Tsuna mumbled a thanks, slowly opening his bag and taking out his bento. Kyoko mirrored his actions, giving him a quick smile before both stated the customary prayer in unison:

"Itadakimasu."

They both dug into their food.

Tsuna slipped another morsel of fish and rice into his mouth, ignoring the bland taste. He was used to it now; nothing seemed to strike him as delicious anymore. Food was merely a necessity, nothing else; he wouldn't eat more than he needed to.

Kyoko set down her chopsticks with a clack. Tsuna looked up slightly, the barest of interest stirring at the sight of her slight blush and the self-conscious look on her face. "You know, Tsuna-kun? When you came back from Kokuyo, I was really relieved. I—I thought you would turn into something scary, but Tsuna-kun, you were just being yourself and that relieved me. I thought that maybe fighting would change you into someone violent, but you didn't. You are just the regular Tsuna-kun."

Tsuna nearly dropped his chopsticks.

Dear god, whatever he had expected it wasn't that. He knew she hadn't meant it, but her words stabbed him like rusted knives through the heart and it hurt hurt hurt. Didn't she _see_ that he had changed? That he was worse than violent, and that he had _killed?_ He was no longer the 'Tsuna-kun' she once knew, and god why couldn't she just see when he was right there in front of her—

His lips twitched upwards into a lazy smile. "Of course I am."

She smiled.

There was a loud crash, and Tsuna jerked his head up in time to meet the cold angry stare of Mochida. Oh, Tsuna thought tiredly, of course Mochida would be mad. He was sitting with Mochida's crush as if it were nothing. He rubbed his eyes as they glazed over again, debating on whether getting up was worth the effort when Mochida stomped over to him, fury clearly written across his face.

"Mochida-senpai?" Tsuna blinked. "What are you— "

"We need to talk."

Tsuna furrowed his eyebrows; why was his brain being so slow? He should be able to think more clearly than this. His muddled mind could barely string a coherent sentence together, and all that came out was, "I don't want to." Then he winced; it sounded so childlike and whiny but he couldn't help it because he was just so _tired_.

Kyoko looked between the two before standing up. "I'll leave then." She was out the door within the minute, but not before casting a concerned glance at the duo.

Everybody else in the classroom was staring at them, wondering what exactly Tsuna had done to warrant Mochida's attention, and the former squirmed uncomfortably. He hated how all of a sudden everybody was looking, and suddenly he felt as exposed as ever. Mochida seemed fairly uncomfortable too, because he dropped his voice low until it was barely above a whisper.

"I warned you yesterday," Mochida hissed, "to not get above yourself, Dame-Tsuna. You are nothing but a failure; you wouldn't amount to anything no matter what you do or how hard you try. And you dare to _flirt_ with my Kyoko."

Oh. So that was what this was about.

Tsuna knew that this was a sensitive subject, he knew it. Later he would have said that he needed to word his sentences better, to make them sound less harsh. But he was tired, and all his drained mind could string together was, "Are you jealous?"

Mochida stiffened, and before Tsuna could react the fist connected painfully with his nose. A disgusting coppery taste flooded his mouth as he bit down on his tongue reflexively. He jerked back with a cry, his chair slamming into the table behind him, but all he could think about was the pain pain pain and the blood blood blood.

And then Masato was in front of him, smiling up coldly. _"You say I'm a monster…but are you any different…?"_

"No!"

Tsuna stumbled to his feet, hands clutching at his nose and mouth. Blood ran freely down his upper lip, dribbling onto his fingers and down his hands and _dear god make it stop._ His hands were stained, like so many nights before, and it was red, so red, so painfully red. He needed to get out of the classroom and back home, away from all the mesmerized pairs eyes, before all of his classmates made the connection that he was the murderer the entire world seemed to be looking for.

And then Mochida was in front of him, laughing, laughing. Then Tsuna was back in the nightmare, hands stained, his own hysteria ringing in the night. He could see Mochida's stomach and guts and intestine and— Bile rose in his throat, burning, burning, and Tsuna couldn't look at Mochida anymore and he needed to get out of the room before—before—

Laughter started in the back of the classroom before nearly half of the room was laughing uproariously. They clapped each other on the back, pointing at him and jeering, and Tsuna cast around desperate eyes as he looked for an opening. Their sneers and smirks were all he could see, but then he saw the door turn and he _ran_, shoving past the startled Kyoko with tears in his eyes. He had to go, he had to leave, before—before—

The next thing he knew he was in the restroom, kneeling in front of the toilet as the little food he had eaten forced their way out of his mouth. Pain flashed through him, but he couldn't stop coughing and coughing despite his bleeding tongue. The vomit swirled in the toilet bowl, bits of pieces of food drifting, swirling with nasty shades of yellow and red red red.

He wiped his mouth shakily, shuddering as he felt the warm stickiness smear further on his face. More and more continued to slide down his nose, and it wouldn't stop why wouldn't it stop? He pinched the bridge of his nose and winced as pain shot through his head, holding on in a desperate attempt to just stop the flow—

More blood slipped past his lips, which were open because he couldn't breathe. He could _taste_ the liquid past the pain pain pain that flared with every small breath, and then he was coughing into the toilet once more. But he didn't have anything else to vomit, as he had already ejected everything within his stomach, and he folded into himself shivering against the stall's walls trying remain calm calm calm past the shattering pieces of the glass world falling relentlessly apart around him—

"Juudaime?"

Tsuna twitched violently at the word, why was Gokudera in the restroom anyway? And the second pair of footsteps indicated that Yamamoto was there too and _why couldn't they leave him alone—_

"Are you okay?"

The same question, repeated hundreds of times. Every time he had answered with the same "I'm fine" like he wanted to do now, but he couldn't breathe and he couldn't talk and why was this happening to him? Before he knew it he was crying, tears mixing with the revolting blood but he couldn't stop it, he couldn't stop it.

"Let us help."

Tsuna shook his head; they couldn't help they just couldn't. It was all in his head and there was nothing they could do about it because they just didn't _understand—_

But then when the silence grew longer and all he could hear was his own sobs he couldn't bear it anymore. He clambered to his feet, swaying, reaching to flush the toilet when he noticed how red his hand was. So he stood off to the side, instead stepping on the handle, allowing the loud flush consume the entire room before trying to pry open the door with his elbow.

Gokudera and Yamamoto started at the sight of him, drenched in all the blood. And then their hands were on him, around him, Yamamoto no longer laughing but with a forced smile in his eyes.

"Let's go to the nurse," he said softly. "You'll be fine."

Shamal was waiting for him in the nurse's office when he stumbled in. The man raked his eyes over him once, twice, and then stood up without complaint. Yamamoto slowly guided Tsuna to a chair, directing him on Shamal's orders, while Gokudera cursed under his breath.

"That bastard Mochida—I'll kill him—"

"Move your hands," Shamal instructed, and Tsuna shakily obliged. Shamal eyed it warily before walking back to the corner of the room where a sink, freezer, and paper towels were.

"When I'm done with him that fucking bastard will be—"

"Yamamoto," Shamal ordered, and Yamamoto jogged over to the sink. There were a few whispered comments before Yamamoto nodded, proceeding to rip a paper towel with his undamaged hand and wetting it. Then Yamamoto dug through a several cabinets before taking out a plastic cup and filling it with tap water. The doctor walked to his office and reappeared with a zip-lock bag, filling it up with ice before setting it onto the counter.

Yamamoto approached Tsuna hesitantly. "Tsuna? You need to clean your face before we can stop the swelling. There's a mirror in front of the sink, so you can wash your face and hands clean there—"

"I—" Tsuna swallowed hysterically. "I—"

"Just wash it," Shamal called from a corner. "It's unsanitary for anybody else."

Tsuna stood up shakily, the world swaying around his feet. He felt dizzy; why did he feel so dizzy? Every movement felt so disorienting he wanted to collapse, but he couldn't, not now, not in front of them. Step by step he stumbled to the sink, his hands clutching at the counter like a lifeline. Steady, he told himself, looking anywhere but up at the mirror and at his hands as he fought to keep his breathing even. Steady.

He turned the faucet on with a nudge from his elbow, and cold water poured all over his hands. The sink filled with pinkish liquid, swirling into the merciless drain and down the pipes. He grabbed at the soap and ran it across his palms, fingers, arms before letting it all wash away down the drain.

Steady. Steady.

Tsuna slowly reached for the wet towel lying innocently on the counter. It was blatantly obvious to him what the towel was to be used for.

After steeling himself briefly he allowed himself to look up, directly into the mirror.

He was a mess. His hair was disheveled, and the gray smudges had darkened beneath his bloodshot eyes. Dirty tear tracks smeared his cheeks, and occasionally there were smudges of red and pink. The blood from his nose continued to flow, but the ones that had dried against his lips were dark and crusted that he had to resist the immediate urge to scratch them off.

With the towel he meticulously began to wipe the blood from his face. One clean hand went to pinch the bridge of his nose, while the other slowly guided the towel around the blood. His stomach was still reeling at the damn metallic scent, and the sooner it was gone the sooner everything would be safer.

Not alright. Nothing would ever be alright.

Tsuna felt his intuition twinge as Reborn entered the room. The baby looked at him grimly, but Tsuna refused to look him in the eyes; instead he focused on cleaning himself up in front of the mirror, slowly relaxing as the traces began to vanish.

Then he took the cup of water and raised it to his lips. The water flowed over his tongue, and Tsuna quickly spat it out. The water dribbled out pink and bloody. He repeated the process a couple more times until the cup was empty.

Once done he lay on the bed as per Shamal's orders.

"You have a broken nose," the doctor said. "Slight anemia, nothing that cannot be fixed." He gestured for Tsuna to open his mouth, and he obeyed. "You've bitten your tongue, and you should refrain from speaking or eating at the moment. Here, take this ice."

Tsuna obeyed, taking the bundle of ice dutifully and pressing it against his nose.

"Your bitten tongue will heal in time. Tongues usually heal quickly, but while it is still there you should be careful about what you eat. Avoid spicy or irritating foods. As for your broken nose, make sure to keep your head elevated as you rest now. Refrain from blowing your nose until it heals. For now, lay down and sleep."

Tsuna leaned against the large pillow. "Sleep?"

"You haven't been sleeping well recently, and now would be a good chance to catch some rest. You are to stay in this room for the rest of the day. Reborn, try not to keep him awake too long during the night. He needs to rest, and his mind and body are fatigued. Gokudera and Yamamoto, return to class."

Gokudera promptly protested. "But Juudaime—"

"—needs to sleep, and your presence is unneeded. You'd only keep him up."

Gokudera opened his mouth to argue further, but Yamamoto grabbed his shoulder and shook his head. The former cast Shamal a deep scowl, but turned around and stormed out of the room, Yamamoto following soon after.

Shamal sighed and moved from his position at the end of Tsuna's bed. "Vongola, get some rest. I don't know what's been keeping you up, but sleep deprivation has consequences. Kensuke Mochida has been suspended for physically assaulting another student. There is nothing to worry about."

Tsuna blinked tiredly. He didn't want to sleep, he didn't want to have another nightmare, but his eyelids felt so heavy and the bed was so relaxing. He tried to lift his head but found that he couldn't, the warm numbness of rest was already spreading through his veins and he couldn't bring himself to try anymore.

No, he thought, the nightmares—

But even as the thought struggled to form, darkness overtook his mind.

* * *

Gokudera was fuming as he strode down the hallway, muttering curses and swearing beneath his breath.

He and Yamamoto had headed up to the roof during lunch, only to find that Tsuna was not there. Which was strange, he thought, because Tsuna had run out of the room first. Yamamoto had commented lightly about staying up on the roof, because surely Tsuna would join them for lunch, but Gokudera had stated loudly that he needed to protect Juudaime and therefore needed to search for him. He hadn't been able to the other day, the other day when he had seen Mochida and his goons heading down the stairs. Thankfully Tsuna had seemed fine, albeit pale; if not, he was certain that he would have yelled at Reborn for calling Yamamoto and him back to talk.

So they had headed down the stairs, shoving past the other students flooding the hallway, when he heard the cry and scream.

It had come from the direction of their classroom, and after a brief shared glance both of them had run. They had skidded to a stop outside the glass window, peering into the classroom, only to see Tsuna desperately clutching at his nose and Mochida sneering down at him.

Rage had coiled in Gokudera's stomach, and he had felt the growing need to march into the room and kill the bastard. Who dared to hurt his savior, his boss? And Mochida was still laughing, laughing, and _goddammit _that bastard was going to die. Gokudera had lunged for the door handle, intent on blowing the classroom into smithereens, when Yamamoto had quickly grabbed his arm and pulled him away.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Gokudera had snarled. "Let me go—!"

"If you attack Mochida now, you will be in trouble too."

The door had slammed open, and then Tsuna had fled down the hallway. Yamamoto had let him go in favor of hunting the brunet down.

Gokudera remembered the blood all over Tsuna's face with distaste. Despite being a Mafioso, he hated the sight of blood. It was too dirty, too difficult to clean up, and overall a pain to take care of. He had learned through experience that being punched in the nose did tend to draw a lot of blood, but he had forgotten just how much.

And he felt so _angry_. Angry at himself for not protecting his boss, angry at Mochida for daring to harm his Juudaime in the first place. If he couldn't be there when his boss was hurt, then why was he Tsuna's right hand man in the first place?

"Damn!"

Yamamoto was back behind him, laughing as if everything was alright. "Now now, Gokudera, calm down. Tsuna's fine now."

"Fine my ass! He shouldn't have been hit in the first place!"

But yes, Yamamoto was right. Tsuna _was_ going to be fine now, now that the bastard Mochida had been dealt with. Shamal, as perverted as he was, was a good doctor, and Gokudera would trust him his life.

Yes. Everything was over, and soon the three could return back to their halcyon days.

Something nagged at his mind, but Gokudera shrugged it off and entered the classroom, not noticing the subtle tightening of Yamamoto's eyes.

* * *

A/N: Next chapter is when I begin to mess everything up, though probably not in the way it's expected to go.


	6. Chapter 6

Thanks to **ShamelessDilettante** for beta-ing!

* * *

"Shamal, I need you to do me a favor."

Shamal raised his eyebrow, turning away from the sleeping brunet to peer at the infant standing behind him. "What is it?"

Reborn met his gaze solemnly. "I need you to make sure that Tsuna is okay."

"I already treated him," Shamal retorted, "though my policy is to not treat men. For now, your student just needs to rest."

Reborn's gaze darkened. "Not just physically, but mentally: you know what I'm talking about."

Exhaling loudly, Shamal slid his hands into his lab coat pockets. He was an assassin, of course he knew what Reborn was talking about. If he hadn't noticed, then he would have been killed many years ago. The mafia wasn't a world for dense idiots.

"I don't know what happened between you and the Vongola brat," Shamal said, "but it is something that you need to resolve yourself. Either way, you fucked things up with him, badly."

Reborn remained silent for a moment, averting his gaze to his unconscious student. Running his hand gently through the soft brown locks, Reborn ignited his fingertips with a plethora of yellow flames, brushing them against the brunet's wounds. The skin and tissue immediately began to reknit itself under their watchful eyes, when suddenly Reborn said, "I didn't have much of a choice." Shamal didn't push for an answer, it wasn't his business anyway. As an afterthought, Reborn added, "But Dame-Tsuna won't talk to me now, and if possible, I want you to help."

"I'm not a shrink," Shamal remarked with a lazy shrug. "Besides, only you can salvage your relationship with him." He gestured at the pale brunet, whose face, once twisted in fear and pain, seemed relaxed. His nose was almost back to normal; Reborn gently tugged open Tsuna's mouth to apply the flames to the rest of the damage. "He fears you, Reborn, and nothing I say will change that."

"And because he fears me, he won't listen even if I chose to explain myself to him," Reborn retorted. "To Dame-Tsuna, anything I say would be an excuse."

"It's your choice," Shamal said lowly. "It's a matter of whether you consider your relationship with him more important than whatever the circumstance is. If you care for him, then explain, at least you tried and gave him something to think about. If the other thing is more important, then keep quiet."

Reborn grumbled loudly. "So it comes down to that. Shamal, what do you think is more important? The Vongola or me?"

Shamal didn't answer.

* * *

Tsuna woke up feeling better than he had in a long while.

The first thing he recognized was that he was not in his room. He was lying on a bed, head slightly twisted, and he rubbed his shoulders in irritation. Trust him to sleep in an uncomfortable position. He rolled his shoulders and sat up, mildly surprised to see a wet cloth drop from its position on his face.

All was silent. From the window he could see that the sun was setting outside, and the sky was bathed in beautiful swathes of purple and orange. The last thing he remembered was that it had been roughly around lunch time, which was, judging from the clock on the wall, six hours ago.

Memory flooded him and he stilled, eyes darting around the room in suspicion. Right, Mochida had punched him and he had gone to the nurse's office for treatment. His eyes locked on the mirror in the corner, and he quickly made his way over to look at his reflection.

There was no mark. His nose seemed just as rounded as usual, and nothing seemed out of place. Even his tongue looked perfectly normal, despite being nearly bitten through. He ran his tongue against the roof of his mouth experimentally, relieved when he felt no pain. Was it all a dream, then?

"Ah, you're up," Shamal's voice said lazily. "Go on home then. Gokudera has already left school for the day—he was making too much commotion for my liking—and Reborn should be drinking his coffee somewhere. Just leave the room; I don't treat men."

Tsuna nodded, slightly perplexed, before slipping past the door.

The hallways were deserted, every footstep echoed around the corridor. Tsuna found the echo intimidating, but was glad for it at the same time; at least this way he could hear if someone approached him. As it was he was already jumping at every shift in movement, cataloging every flicker in the lights or shadows inside and outside the school.

He knew he shouldn't feel this paranoid, but he couldn't help it. He was certain that the confrontation with Mochida was not a dream—how else had he ended up at the nurse's office anyway—and that he had been injured with blood all over him. Tsuna paused in his walk as he suddenly considered the possibility that he had simply fallen asleep in class from his fatigue, and that someone had carried him to the office for him to sleep.

He shrugged. He would find out one way or another eventually.

There was a crack, and Tsuna paused in mid-step curiously before heading to the window. He remembered that generally there were still clubs going on at this time of the day. Down on the pitch, the baseball team was still practicing. The pitcher threw the ball, and the batter swung; the crack of the baseball against the bat rang loudly in the still air. Tsuna looked around the field quickly, smiling softly as he located Yamamoto sitting by the bench with his damaged arm in a sling.

He turned around, intent on going down to the field, when he spotted the fedora.

"Ciaossu."

"Reborn!" Tsuna yelped, skittering backwards into the wall. "Um—why are you—"

"We're going to go train."

Tsuna stilled and instantly began to panic. This was not good, not good at all. He hadn't forgotten about it, but somehow having to act through the usual monotony of everyday life managed to shove the training from his mind.

"But I don't—"

"No complaints, Dame-Tsuna. Now hurry up, the faster you finish this the faster we can go back home."

Tsuna floundered for another moment for words but gave up in sheer frustration. Reborn had that stubborn glint in his eyes again, and Tsuna was certain that Reborn wouldn't acquiesce to his pleas no matter what he did. So he sighed, cast another long look at Yamamoto laughing down at the field, and left.

The sun continued to set as they walked quietly down the streets. The silence provided by Reborn gave him time to calm down and think, and think he did: he desperately sorted through his memories to try to find what Reborn had promised about the extra… 'training.'

He paused in mid-step as he barely recalled their conversation.

"_Because of the recent police involvement," Reborn began expressionlessly, "we are putting the training on hold. After everything dies down, we will begin target practice and Dying Will Flame training."_

_Tsuna laughed shrilly. "Target practice on what, Reborn? Humans? Animals?" _

_Reborn's eyes flickered, and he paused briefly. "Moving targets, Tsuna. Moving, _inanimate _objects."_

Tsuna felt a sudden doubt flood him. Reborn had promised that he would only have to kill one thing, but what would keep him from lying? Then Tsuna's legs were trembling all over again, and then he could see the blood, dear god the blood, covering his hands and the gun clattering by his feet—

"Reborn?" he called tremulously. "Reborn?"

The cool voice came back. "What is it?"

He needed reassurance, he needed it. He couldn't handle if it he had to go through _that_ again; he'd kill himself before he killed another man—

Perhaps his desperation shone on his face, because Reborn merely glanced at him before speaking. "It's just practicing how to aim on target boards. I've said before that it would not be excessively violent."

His relief was nearly palpable, and he could feel the beginnings of a smile trace his cheeks. "But with what am I to practice with?"

A pause. "A gun."

A gun.

Then he was back at that night, with Reborn's silver pistol in his fingers. His arm was shaking, finger trembling against the trigger, and then Masato's leering smile curved with triumph as he twitched and the bullet slashed through the air…

"No," he said. "I won't!" He couldn't do it again, human target or not, because the only thing a gun could possibly do was to take lives and he didn't want that.

Reborn stopped on the sidewalk, his back still turned to him. "You forget that guns are one of the primary weapons that a Mafioso uses. If you are ever disarmed in the future and there is a gun by your feet then you will _need_ to be able to aim. Otherwise, what would happen if your friends are targets? Your family? If you can't aim, whether to kill or not, you won't be able to do _anything_."

"The chances of that happening are not—" Tsuna protested.

"The chances of you finding another set of gloves on the ground is even lower," Reborn retorted.

"I don't even know how to use them! "

"What do you think you're practicing for?"

Tsuna shut his mouth with a snap. Why couldn't Reborn just let him be? He was so insanely intent on making Tsuna learn to fight in preparation for becoming a mafia boss but Tsuna _didn't want it_. He didn't want to learn to fight, he didn't want to learn to kill, and most of all he didn't want to become a mafia boss and why couldn't Reborn just see that? Even if he said that he didn't want the title Reborn tried to force it onto him, and he hated it he hated it so much—

And suddenly he realized that he _hated_ the fact that he had no say in the matter. He _loathed_ the fact that he had already done so much, cooperated so much, and he was still pressured to do more and more because there coincidentally were no other heirs besides him and because he was related to someone he had never heard of before in his life. He didn't care if blood ancestry was required to be a leader of the Vongola, but there had to be someone, anyone, who could do the job better than he could.

He didn't _care_ about the Vongola—he never did and he never would. The Vongola ripped his everyday life to shreds, and there had been nothing he could do to stop it.

Tsuna remained silent, partly because he didn't know what to say and also because he didn't trust himself to speak. If he spoke, he was worried that he wouldn't be able to control what came out of his mouth, and he certainly did not want Reborn getting upset and forcing him to kill something else.

Reborn took his silence as consent, and a moment later both were walking silently down the street.

Twenty minutes later they were deep within the Namimori forest. The police had marked off the scene of Masato's death, and neither was keen on visiting the site again. Reborn deftly guided Tsuna deeper and deeper into the woods.

The trees swayed precariously, and the leaves rustled in the unseen wind. Every movement, every sound seemed to jump out at him. Several times he heard something rustle around him and he would jump, because every sound could be a police officer examining the forest around them. And every police officer would surely question why a teen and a baby were striding through the forest as if it were their home, and would slowly piece everything together as they recalled the cliff and Masato and the blood blood blood.

Reborn surprisingly kept Leon shifted into the form of a gun. Whereas the baby made no sound whilst moving through the brush—typical of an assassin—Tsuna was making a lot of noise. Tsuna knew that Reborn was worried and on edge, but was certain that Reborn could handle whatever danger that appeared. It was still worrying that Reborn seemed tense and upset about—something. It certainly was not the police.

They stopped at a clearing, deep within the woods. The sky had long since disappeared, and the moon was beginning to come out. What little light the moon cast illuminated the field enough to determine that it was clear of obstructions except for a small pile of professionally crafted targets.

Reborn walked over to the targets and lifted one into the air. "These signs will be your targets. With the gun, you will be practicing how to shoot them from a variety of ranges and angles. When you are done with this, we will begin learning how to master the Hyper Dying Will mode, as well as learning how to use your gloves. Ready?"

Tsuna nodded hesitantly.

"Then let's begin."

He was so caught up in the words that he never noticed Reborn's odd stare.

* * *

When they returned later, Tsuna was semi-pleased to know that only three hours had passed.

It had felt longer than that. Although he was very unwilling to use the gun, Tsuna figured that trying to find a way out of it would not work. Reborn had intentionally led them to a place where they would not be seen, and the silencer placed on both their guns muffled the sounds of the shots. The serious gleam in those obsidian eyes told Tsuna that like _that _night, Reborn was unwilling to compromise.

Thankfully Reborn had prepared a different gun than the one he had originally used. The gun given to him was a combination of orange and black, a similar recolor of Reborn's own. Reborn had first told Tsuna about all the parts of the gun—the magazine, the chassis, the safeties—before allowing Tsuna to try to shoot. Reborn stood the targets on a stand and watched as Tsuna began to fire.

After correcting his stance many times, Tsuna concluded that his fatal shot on Masato had been merely a lucky—or unlucky—hit. His aim was positively miserable, and Reborn was quick to tell him that. By the time Tsuna could finally hit the target, he was sore from the recoil of the shots.

The sky continued to darken as their lesson dragged on, and Reborn stopped Tsuna from shooting any further. Then he had ordered Tsuna to the center of the field, where he began to lecture.

"What do you know about the positions of the Vongola?" he had asked.

"Um…nothing?"

Reborn had nodded understandingly, and launched into an explanation of the guardians and the boss.

The walk back had been a nightmare—being near the cliffs did not help—but eventually Tsuna made it home in one piece. He was shaken by the walk, but refused to show it; although he was trembling, it was cold outside, and he had chosen not to wear much due to lack of foresight. If Reborn noticed that he was shivering he didn't comment on it, but instead led Tsuna surely through the forest as if it were clear.

Tsuna thought that the entire structure of the Vongola was interesting. Mainly, he wondered who would be selected to become his future guardians. Tsuna knew he was undoubtedly the sky, but who were the others? Would they be people who were specially trained from Italy? Or someone else?

Upon returning home Nana greeted them with her usual smile. Bianchi and Fuuta had just been released from the hospital, and Lambo and I-pin had begged Nana to throw a party. So she did, and Nana had piled an inordinate amount of food piled high on the table. Lambo had chosen to eat first, but the rest had dutifully waited for Tsuna and Reborn to return home.

Once they were all properly seated, everyone called a quick "Itadakimasu" before digging into their food.

Tsuna gingerly placed a small bite into his mouth, chewing mechanically, when his mind began to drift onto the day's occurrences. Then blood blood blood seemed to be flooding his mouth again, the metallic red liquid filling every crevice in its warmth, and his stomach heaved and his throat hurt—

"I need to use the restroom," he managed, before standing up and all but running to the toilet. He fell to his knees and clutched at the toilet bowl, coughing and heaving in a desperate attempt to get it out—get it out.

What was wrong with him? It wasn't even logical anymore, it was just food after all. Sure it was bland, but it was edible and he had eaten it before, and why on earth did he have to break down now—

He curled over on the ground, wrapping himself in a desperate embrace. He had thought that the lack of nightmares during the day was supposed to be a good sign, a sign that he was getting over it, but this—this—it was because of the blood, because of Mochida, that his stomach was hurting and he needed space. Because everything he placed in his food was no longer bland, it was like blood, like the taste of his tongue as his teeth sank deep into the muscle, ripping into the blood vessels like it was nothing more than paper, just a flimsy piece of paper.

He could hear everybody else laughing cheerfully outside, and knew that he couldn't stay in the bathroom for much longer. Somebody, Reborn especially, would get suspicious, and he couldn't have that. So he stood up painfully and flushed the toilet, running his hands through cold water and plastered a smile onto his face.

No one acknowledged him when he re-entered, which suited him just fine. While he was gone, the everyday havoc began to appear again: Lambo was trying to hoard everything, I-pin was scolding in broken Japanese, and Bianchi was nuzzling Reborn lovingly. Tsuna strode over to his own chair, preparing to sit down, when he noticed that Fuuta was sitting still, staring at his food.

"Fuuta-kun?" he asked, glad to have an excuse not to 'eat.' "What's wrong?"

Fuuta shook his head.

"You can talk to me," he coaxed reassuringly, noting the lack of cheerfulness from the boy. Tsuna flicked his mind back to the Kokuyo—it seemed like it happened so long ago—and paused. Judging from the look in his eyes…"Fuuta, what happened is not your fault."

Fuuta looked up, his eyes stunned and upset. "It is, if only I hadn't gotten caught then you wouldn't have gotten hurt."

"You can't blame yourself for being captured. Mukuro and the others are strong."

Fuuta looked down at his knees. "But—I attacked you."

Tsuna reached out to pat Fuuta on the head but paused. "You were under mind control. No one could fight his influence, Fuuta, except you. Even Lancia, someone much older than you, could not resist. Nothing that happened is your fault, and no one blames you. All that matters is that you're safe and sound, here with us."

Fuuta looked away guiltily.

Tsuna sighed. "Fuuta, did you want to attack us?"

"No."

"Did you give Mukuro your rankings willingly?"

"No."

"Did you try to sell us out?"

"I didn't!"

"Then it isn't your fault," Tsuna reassured softly. "You were forced, and nothing that happened was of your own will. That's why, it's okay. You don't have to worry anymore, Fuuta."

Fuuta's bottom lip trembled, and big fat tears began to roll down his cheeks. His hand went up and grasped Tsuna's shirt, and he buried his face in as he started to cry. Tsuna desperately resisted the urge to pull away, and slowly raised his arms in turn to embrace the small child.

"It's okay," he repeated soothingly. "Everything will be okay."

He hoped.

* * *

The days began to blur together quickly after that.

The next morning Fuuta was as lively and cheerful as ever. Lambo and I-pin were quick to play with him again, and soon the three were regularly playing outside. Nana thanked him for cheering Fuuta up, although she clearly did not know why Fuuta had been sad in the first place, but was genuinely happy that Fuuta was up and about.

Tsuna returned to school, where he was subjected to a new level of bullying. Word about Mochida's punch had spread throughout the campus overnight, and everybody stopped and stared when he passed. He told himself that he didn't care, and he didn't—Mochida was gone from the campus for the time being, and Tsuna didn't have to worry about panic attacks set in by Mochida's appearance. Gokudera's swearing was enough to drive the other bullies away.

It became painfully clear that Gokudera and Yamamoto believed that his troubles were over. When they talked they interacted like normal, as if the incident with Mochida had never happened. Neither asked why Tsuna had been losing sleep in the first place, and neither asked what he had said to make Mochida punch him. Tsuna was glad for the inattention, and was relieved that they wouldn't be hounding him over his affairs after the recent debacle.

On a side note, Yamamoto had his cast taken off. He began to devote his time into his baseball practice, because there was a large game coming up, and couldn't walk home with the usual group any longer.

Every night Reborn and Tsuna made their way to the clearing. As days passed Tsuna grew more and more proficient with the gun. Soon Reborn was altering the target's heights and even making them move horizontally across the ground whilst he attempted to shoot them. While he had grown better at aiming at still objects, he still failed miserably at shooting moving targets, and he wanted that to change.

In addition to the target practice, Reborn began to train Tsuna on effectively using his Dying Will mode. For a week Reborn allowed him to sleep in late on school days, in exchange for staying out late at night climbing cliffs. Every night he went to sleep exhausted, and every morning his muscles would ache like hell. The upside to this was that the heavy fatigue granted him a dreamless sleep, something that he highly appreciated. He hadn't enjoyed it when he had stayed up late in order to escape the nightmares.

After he managed to climb the cliff the first time, Reborn congratulated him.

"But we can't advance onto the next step," he said, "because we need somebody else's help."

Soon after Reborn restricted the training to simply endurance drills and target practice.

During the training sessions, neither of them mentioned Masato again. Tsuna was glad for this reprieve, and although he was definitely scared of Reborn, he found that he could slowly trust him again. Reborn had never broken his word to him, and Tsuna was glad for the honesty in spite of all of the pain he had gone through. Sometimes he sensed that Reborn himself was not happy of Masato's fate either.

Tsuna began to notice that Reborn acted uneasy at times. Sometimes he caught Reborn looking as if he wanted to say something. He was unsure of what exactly was causing this uneasiness, but he sensed that Reborn was feeling upset and worried. Tsuna had never seen Reborn so riled up, and wondered what exactly could make Reborn so agitated.

* * *

Tsuna was walking home alone one day when the last of his calm was destroyed.

The first thing that he noticed was that two people were walking towards him. Looking up he noted the boy and the girl; he had developed a habit of 'screening' and evaluating everybody who passed him in response to his endless paranoia. He was surprised to see them staring at him intently and was immediately put on guard.

The girl had spiky red hair and silvery eyes, and was smiling at him rather oddly. The boy had thick eyebrows, dark eyes, and brown hair that was cropped unevenly by his ears. Both wore the uniform of his school.

Tsuna lowered his eyes and moved to brush past them when the girl whispered in his ear.

"I know who you are, Sawada Tsunayoshi, and what you have done. Although the newspaper didn't report it, you made wonderfully short work of Masato Hitsuji. I daresay we will be meeting each other soon."

The girl cast him an amused stare before walking away.

Tsuna stood rooted to the spot, his bag dropping to the floor. This couldn't be happening, it just couldn't. He was so certain that no one had known—that no one could know—that it was him who committed the murder. He turned around, desperate to pin her down and question her, but they were gone.

The street was empty.

Tsuna shivered. Where had they gone? How had they known? Were they watching him, now, at this very instant? And suddenly everything was his enemy—the lamp, the corners, the shadows—because anybody and anything could be hiding just out of his sight. He could _feel_ the eyes on him, watching him, evaluating his reaction, and dear god he needed to get away right this instant.

He couldn't head home—_someone knew_. He would endanger all of them—_someone knew. _And if both of them knew, then what was to say that others didn't? Hell, they could tell the entire world if they wanted and there would be nothing that he could do to stop them—

A dog barked, and the sound was like a gunshot in the still air. He flinched violently, wishing that he had his gun he needed his gun right this instant—no, it was just a dog, just a dog, just a stupid stupid dog. Tsuna forced himself to move on past the dog, away from the dog, until the barks disappeared into the distance and then a goddamn crow started cawing and why wouldn't it shut up? He needed to be able to hear everything around him, but there were children playing, the birds crying, and he needed to get away and hide because he didn't want to die—

His heart was thudding and he couldn't hear a goddamn thing beside his pulse, beating, beating, beating so loud and so clear he was certain that everybody could hear it. Listen to me, his heart seemed to scream. I'm guilty, I'm guilty, I'm the murderer you're all looking for.

He turned down an alley and ran.

Where could he go? Reborn had gone off somewhere, and Yamamoto was at baseball practice and Gokudera had gone to his mysterious home. Even if they were options he couldn't go there anyway, because the girl and the boy would watch him, assess them, and determine that they were friends of a murderer and that they were suspects too. And then they would know, everybody would know, that he was the murderer, the killer, and Nana would cry and Fuuta would wail and Lambo and I-pin would scream—

He needed to go somewhere no one else would think of going.

The answer came to him immediately. The forest, there was always the forest. The forest where everybody got lost, the forest where no one dared to go. However he had gone there every night the past couple of weeks, and surely he could find his way to the clearing again where Reborn would be waiting.

But did he really want to go there?

Reborn had assured Tsuna that no one would know about Masato. He had _promised_ him, in his own way, that it would remain a secret! Dear god, he had shoved the memory to the back of his mind, but Reborn had gone back on his promise by letting the press know, by making the entire city know that there was a murderer on the streets, by making the entire city wary of his presence. Reborn had assured him that nobody would know, but now everybody did, and now the boy and girl knew of his _name_ and _identity_ and what on Earth was Reborn _doing_? Because it couldn't have been a coincidence, and Reborn must have had a hand in leaking the information—

Tsuna didn't trust him.

His bag slid off of his back as he slowly crumbled to his knees. It wasn't a safe position, but was it ever safe? His eyes darted around for something, anything, that could serve as a weapon, it didn't matter what he just needed to defend himself.

Something flashed white and silver in his vision, and he instantly recognized the gleam of metal. He stood up as if in a trance and made his way over to the shine.

Lying scattered across the dirty pavement were two brilliant silver knives. They flashed and shone in the sunlight, contrasting against the black pavement like day and night. Tsuna felt the telltale swoop of elation as he realized that yes, yes he could use this, these knives were exactly what he needed now that they knew and now that everyone would know—

He mentally slapped himself.

What was he thinking? He wanted the knives, he couldn't deny that, but for what? To hurt? To maim?

To kill?

Stop thinking, he snapped to himself, and he could almost hear the other voice die out in relief. He grumbled in irritation as he felt a migraine begin to develop, because his head hurt and everything around him seemed to laugh. And still the knives gleamed on the ground, winking merrily up at him. Pick me up, they seemed to whisper, I can protect you from harm, protect you from everybody else, all you need to do is to pick me up.

Tsuna obeyed.

The knives were cold to his touch, and Tsuna could almost feel the iciness spreading through his fingertips to the rest of his body. As he examined them he absently noted the strange, almost characteristic shape and quality. The knives were curved, a single hole punctuating the blunt end as if something were to be inserted through it. He experimentally slashed out in front of him and was pleased to find that they were light and firm.

This was it. They felt perfect for him, small enough for hiding. No one would see it them he hid them carefully enough. He swung again and again, allowing the beginnings of a manic smile to etch across his face, because now he was safe, safe, and no one could touch him, no one could harm him, never, ever again—

"Dame-Tsuna?"

Tsuna froze. He knew that voice.

Standing directly behind him was Mochida.


	7. Chapter 7

Thanks to those that followed/favorited/reviewed. Also, thanks to those that gave me long reviews, I appreciate it!

Also, thanks to **ShamelessDilettante **for beta-ing!

* * *

Mochida had been walking home after shopping for groceries. His mother was busy, and had asked him to go shopping in her stead since he had nothing to do anyway. Because he had exhausted all of the video games lying around his house, he had agreed. It was just shopping; it wasn't as if anything would go wrong.

Tomorrow would be the day that he could finally go back to school. It had been a long, boring week since he had gotten himself suspended, but he didn't regret punching Dame-Tsuna in the face. The brunet had been asking for it, he griped. While he could tolerate other idiots, Dame-Tsuna continually pushed at his patience and tolerance until he wanted to strangle him. Something about the boy just made him feel infuriated.

Mochida allowed himself to smirk as the thought passed through his mind. After he had been punched, Dame-Tsuna had run away like the coward that he was. The expression that the brunet had worn was beyond amusing; he had looked so utterly shocked and terrified that it made Mochida want to laugh. Honestly, what else had Dame-Tsuna been expecting? It wasn't as if Mochida had ever been particularly kind to him, far from it.

Distantly, he wondered how Dame-Tsuna was faring. After the little stunt in the school, his parents had been called back from work for the punishment, much to their anger and chagrin. Nothing the principal had said fazed him, and even his parents' tirades were tolerable. Throughout the meeting his mind had been full of Dame-Tsuna, and nothing but Dame-Tsuna, and the accompanying glee and satisfaction that came from the contact of his fist against his nose.

Mochida flexed his wrist in remembrance of the occasion, grinning to himself triumphantly. After all this time, he had finally managed to repay Tsuna back in more than one way. Humming to himself, he turned the corner with a slight bounce in his step, anticipating the next time he could meet the whimpering brunet again.

It was strange how life worked sometimes, he found himself thinking later, like how the object of his thoughts appeared directly in front of him. One moment he was looking around idly, and the next he caught sight of a pale hand reaching out of a dark alley. Mochida paused, instantly curious about the action, and found his curiosity rising when he saw the distinctive gleam of metal.

He approached the alley purposefully, unwilling to hunch his shoulders like he often saw Dame-Tsuna doing. The bag with the groceries swung in his hand, and he slung it over his shoulder in annoyance. Casually he strode to the entrance and looked in.

A teen was standing in the darkness, his back turned toward him. The first thing Mochida noted was that the metal—two pieces of metal—were gleaming wickedly in the teen's hands. Then he noted the bizarre shape, the sharp edges, and sucked in a breath. The teenage boy was wielding two knives. As he watched the boy began slashing the blades erratically in front of him, more and more rapidly, and his nervous eyes recognized the hair, the figure, the uniform…

"Dame-Tsuna?" The word was out of his mouth before he could stop it.

Tsuna stopped, the knife freezing in midair, and suddenly Mochida was reminded of a rigid robot, stiff and unnaturally straight. Mechanically the brunet turned around, expression curiously blank, a knife clutched in each hand by his sides.

"Mochida-senpai," Tsuna acknowledged.

Mochida had taken a step forward before he had realized it. Despite the knives, Tsuna still screamed of vulnerability and weakness. Tsuna's shoulders were still hunched, eyes darting around rapidly, and his knuckles were rapidly turning white from the pressure exerted against the handles of the weapons, and he looked more skittish than usual that it made Mochida want to sneer.

Weeks of antagonism guided his mouth. "So you can't fight hand-to-hand and would rather resort to weapons? Pathetic." A sudden idea struck him, and he smirked maliciously. "I could get you arrested for this, you know? Handling weapons on the street like a madman. Perhaps you really _are _the serial killer the entire world is looking for."

The moment the last word left his lips something changed, and intuitively he knew that something was terribly wrong. Tsuna seemed to fold in on himself even more, and a fine trembling had overtaken his entire form. Fear practically radiated off of the boy in waves, and Mochida was reminded of a deer caught in the headlights, unable to run away, staring with wide eyes at the inevitable doom headed his way with barely a honk and a screech before all went black.

Tsuna made a strangled noise in the back of his throat, and Mochida had the sinking feeling that he had made a huge mistake.

The next moment Tsuna was in motion, the brown mop of hair flying at Mochida quickly, too quickly for him to register even with all of his years of experience with sparring. Mochida dropped his bag in an attempt to move away, and it hit the ground behind him with a crinkling thud. He stepped to the side, his eyes widening fractionally as something silver and sharp flitted by his face. The knife had flown at him with the intent to kill. Another moment and he would have been—no, he didn't want to think about it, he couldn't think about it now, not now. But the bloodied image of his own lifeless face flickered across his mind, and he couldn't seem to clear it enough to think and react.

Tsuna leapt at him again, eyes glazed in madness, and Mochida pushed himself further against the alley walls. He swore loudly at the buildings, wishing that there was more room to maneuver. Even if he had his shinai, he wouldn't be able to do anything because there wasn't enough room to do anything, and he cursed his luck. Of all of the things that he could get tangled up in, he was involved with an insane brat, he had just been trying to buy some fucking groceries for god's sake!

But Tsuna wasn't moving, hovering by the alley entrance, letting his arms dangle limply by his sides. Mochida nearly laughed at the sheer insanity of his situation and felt the beginnings of fear and panic close his throat.

He blinked, and the next instant a silver knife was flying at his head. Years of kendo practice jerked him out of the way, and unthinkingly he jumped to the side. The wall pressed against his arm. Then something grabbed his arm in a grip of steel and pulled, pain flaring along his shoulder. His arm was brutally twisted behind his back at an angle that no arm was supposed to bend. The sheer strength of the motion spun him around until he was facing the wall, and he froze when he felt something cold press almost lovingly against his throat.

"Don't move."

Nothing seemed clear; he couldn't seem to hear or see anything beyond the feel of the icy metal against his skin, throbbing against his veins, ready to split him open at a moment's notice in case he did anything stupid and irrational and totally like him. His shoulder protested in agony, and he wanted nothing more than to get out of the grip, but he couldn't move, he didn't move.

"What do you need?" Mochida demanded weakly. He tried to keep his voice steady, but his voice kept rising and wouldn't stop. Not good. Not good.

Tsuna laughed oddly. "You know what I need. How did you know?"

"Know what?" He needed the knife away from him, away from him—

And then the metal pressed tighter against his throat, and he shuddered. Stop, he wanted to demand, but now Tsuna had all the cards and it just seemed so _ironic_. Because a minute ago it was him who held everything, him who held Tsuna in the palm of his hand, and now it was the complete opposite, and surely this was all just a dream, a nightmarish hallucination.

"Don't fuck with me," the other voice hissed from behind, and Mochida couldn't help but to wonder since when Tsuna had begun to swear.

"I swear I don't know what you're talking about—"

"Shut up!"

The grip on his arm tightened agonizingly, eliciting a yell of pain from his mouth. The knife buried in his skin insistently, deeper and deeper until he felt the telltale trickle of blood rolling down his neck. A warning, he recognized hysterically, and he fought the desperate urge to kick the brunet, to punch him, to do anything in order to escape. But he couldn't, Tsuna was there, the knife was there, right by his neck and he couldn't do a single thing. His left hand dangled limply by his side, and he couldn't bring himself to muster the energy to clench his fist. No, that wasn't right—his hand simply wouldn't respond.

"You know what I mean!" Tsuna demanded shrilly. "About—about—about the murder, that's what! I—I—how did you _know_?"

Blood roaring dangerously in his head, Mochida stilled, trying to think. The only thing he had mentioned had been the serial killer… His mind raced a thousand miles per hour, piecing words and reactions together to form one grim conclusion:

_Tsuna was the serial killer._

His legs swayed precariously, and he felt lightheaded and dizzy. Dame-Tsuna wasn't that type of person; he was weak, cowardly, and couldn't bear to see anyone hurt. But the truth was undeniable, it was right in front of him, he couldn't deny it, and suddenly he was scared. Here he was, out on a regular day, shopping like a regular person, and now this? It was absurd, so absurd, and everything—his mind, his thoughts, his life—was placed on a single knife and it couldn't possibly be any heavier in the murderer's hands.

"Answer me!"

"I didn't know!" Mochida snapped back quickly as he felt the knife rip deeper into his neck, causing pain to flare before pausing as the metal mercifully stopped.

"Liar!"

He swallowed painfully. "I swear I don't, just listen to me."

There was the shuffle, but the grip didn't change. He could hear his breath, shallow and quick, as well as Tsuna's, which were far from calm. And that was when he realized with a shock that Tsuna was just as scared as he was, if not more, judging from the sweaty palms against his arm.

"I don't believe you—"

"Just listen to me!" Mochida snapped, finally losing it. Everything swayed around him, zooming in and out like a dizzying kaleidoscope, and it was hard, so hard, to focus. "The first thing I see when I enter the alley is you swinging the knife around crazily! What am I supposed to think? That you're trying to cut your hair? Then you're smiling and almost laughing, like—like a killer—I didn't know—it was supposed to be a fucking joke, goddamn it!"

The voice rose hysterically. "Just a joke? Just a joke? Everything you say is always _just a joke_, and even if you don't mean it, you still say it, you still say it! Don't think that everything is alright just because you meant it as a 'fucking joke,' because it doesn't work that way!" Mochida opened his mouth to scream something back but stopped, his face paling, and suddenly he didn't need to hear anymore, he could already guess it. "Every day!" Tsuna was yelling, "Every day I walk into school, wondering what you would say to me next. Just a joke, you say. But when I hear it every day, over and over, it's no longer just words, just a joke. Because even if you don't believe it, I do, and it's not a joke; it's my goddamn reality!"

The voice dissolved into shuddering sobs, and the knife fell with a clatter onto the ground. Tsuna's hand loosened on his arm, and then it slipped from Mochida's wrist altogether. Now, his mind screamed, now he could move. One kick would be enough. The knife was no longer a threat, and Tsuna was preoccupied with his own thoughts. He could escape in the blink of an eye—

But he didn't.

Instead he turned around slowly, ever so slowly, his whole mind alert and aware of the slightest movement. Nothing threatened him, and after a long moment he had pivoted all the way around.

Now that he was closer to the brunet he could catch all of the signs that he had missed. Tsuna looked like a mess. His spiky hair was more disheveled than usual, and the dark bags beneath his eyes looked more prominent than ever against his pale skin. He had lost weight, and his cheeks seemed sunken and unhealthily hollow. Tear tracks marred the smooth surface of his skin, and Mochida was struck by how fragile and delicate he looked. Tsuna looked so devastatingly different from the 'Tsuna' Mochida could remember before everything began. Before the incident with Kyoko, so many months before.

The memory of his humiliation brought forth the familiar wave of anger back, but looking at the broken brunet it was hard to hold onto it.

Before the public kendo match for Kyoko, Mochida honestly had not cared about Tsuna. To him, Dame-Tsuna was just another one of his classmates: no more, no less. While his other friends and classmates had frequently belittled Tsuna, Mochida had found no interest in taking part in the bullying.

But then everything had changed when Tsuna had boldly confessed in his boxers. It infuriated him endlessly that a _nobody _would have the nerve to do so. He loved Kyoko, and he really cared for her, and it was insulting to have a failure and a loser confess to his girlfriend. After all, Mochida was the captain of the kendo team, and surely that was no easy feat. So in order to restore both his and Kyoko's pride, he had challenged the loser to a duel—the duel that unfortunately left him with nothing.

He couldn't believe that Dame-Tsuna, the class failure, could outmatch him so much during kendo. Although it was true that he had cheated, Mochida hadn't wanted to leave any possibility that Tsuna could beat him. If Mochida had won then dignity would be restored to both him and Kyoko, and it would have been a clear indicator that no one had the right to act so dishonorably toward his girlfriend. Besides, Dame-Tsuna wouldn't, shouldn't be able to win anyway, there was a reason why he had the nickname after all.

But despite all odds, Dame-Tsuna had won. In that instant Mochida had gone from one of the most popular boys in the school to a laughingstock, ostracized amongst his peers.

_Hatehatehate:_ that was all that he had felt for the next couple of days. Because after the incident Tsuna began making more and more friends, including the delinquent transfer student and the easy-going Yamamoto. Then Tsuna began to hang out more with his girlfriend, who had broken up with him in the aftermath of the kendo match, and Mochida hated how happy and satisfied they looked around each other.

No—he was _jealous_.

Days, weeks, and then months passed, and he found himself periodically trying to approach the increasingly popular brunet. He should be happy, he thought angrily, that Kyoko was doing well—but the thought always ended in self-loathing so he decided against thinking about it. Whenever he had found the opportunity to speak to the brunet, he had found himself overwhelmed by his emotions that he couldn't _think, _and ended up lashing out verbally instead.

Soon the Kokuyo gang began to attack Namimori students. Mochida himself had fallen victim to one of the Kokuyo assailants. While he was recuperating in the hospital room, he was stunned to hear the news that Dame-Tsuna, of all people, had successfully driven the Kokuyo students away.

_Hatehatehate._

And then a little over two weeks later, Tsuna had had the nerve to stop Gokudera from hitting him. He had acted so high and mighty, it was infuriating. _"Know your place,"_ Mochida had practically spat before leaving. Because he was frustrated, irritated, and above all insecure—if even Dame-Tsuna could claim everything from him, what was to say that nobody else could?

And then the brunet had had the _nerve_ to declare him as jealous. Even if it was true, no one else needed to hear it, and he himself knew full well what he was like. Fury unlike anything he had felt before had engulfed him, and in that single instant he had snapped. His hand punched out and came away bloody. That one action had released all of his pent-up emotions and stress that it felt so amazingly satisfying. Tsuna's terrified reaction had only added to his glee.

He had once thought that he would never forgive Tsuna. But now…

Looking at the broken boy he felt the strangest sense of remorse. He opened his mouth, but found himself unable to find words in order to comfort him. If he spoke, he would only make the situation worse. As it was, he was scared that Tsuna would fall into pieces, pieces that he would never be able to pick up.

After the kendo match, Mochida had taken it upon himself to observe Tsuna from a distance. Obviously Tsuna had been hiding something, because there was no way a simple loser could defeat him. During his observations he had concluded that while Tsuna might be weak physically, he was one of the strongest people that Mochida knew.

Everybody else that he knew would feel angry and bitter about the constant teasing. Everybody else he knew would not be nearly as friendly or forgiving. The knowledge had left a bitter taste in his mouth, because in his mind he was mentally weaker than Tsuna, but it was _true_ and he couldn't bring himself to deny it.

Because of this, the fact that Tsuna was breaking down was concerning. While part of Mochida's mind thought that something huge must have happened, the rest of him was hesitant to agree with that assumption. The Tsuna that he had known would never have lashed out with violence in any way, and he couldn't help wondering if the murder had been induced by multiple factors. Could Tsuna have killed because of bullying? Stress? Family troubles? Or something else?

Mochida suspected it was a combination of them all.

Tsuna continued to sob quietly into his hands, and Mochida looked away. There was nothing he could do for him, even if he wanted to. He weighed his options carefully and exhaled.

Without a word, he turned around and left.

Mochida could practically hear Tsuna's crying intensify as he exited the alley. He stooped down by the entrance and picked up the bag of groceries. It was strange how all of a sudden it seemed so unimportant, so insignificant, in light of the incident.

Trying to tune out the sounds of distant sobbing, Mochida walked away and didn't look back. He had a job to do. His mind was already on autopilot, legs moving of their own accord, and he couldn't seem to think anymore. He could feel nothing, see nothing, register nothing but the fading cries of the broken teen behind him, but he had a job to do and he couldn't let his regret get in the way. If he looked back, he would change his mind, because Tsuna needed more help than he could possibly give.

No matter what, Tsuna was still a killer, a murderer, and had killed another person willingly. At the very least, Mochida decided, he needed to turn him in to the police. The bag of groceries in his hand was so useless, so meaningless, his mother wouldn't miss it if he brought it home half an hour late. At least, he hoped it would only take half an hour, because he didn't want to be questioned about—about Tsuna, not at all.

Around him the world swooped again, and Mochida blinked in surprise. How strange, he was already standing outside of the police department, hadn't he just seen Tsuna not too long before? Shoving the thought roughly from his mind, he hesitated briefly before pushing open the door, ignoring the strange stares of the rest of the pedestrians outside.

"Hello?" he asked, mustering as much courage as he could. The room was neat, and a woman was sitting behind the reception counter directly in front of him, jotting notes down with a pen. At his voice, she peered up with a frown.

"Do you need something?"

Mochida moved forward until he was standing in front of her, taking in everything—anything—as he struggled to phrase the sentence coherently. "I—I know the identity of the serial killer," he said, and his stomach twisted and plummeted until he was feeling sick.

Her eyes sharpened, and she set her pen down after scrutinizing him too thoroughly for his liking. Picking up her walkie-talkie, she murmured a few words (which was followed by a loud buzz and a mess of incoherent sounds, he could never understand how anybody understood anything that was said across those devices) before she slipped it back onto her waistband and perused him a second time.

"Who is it?"

Pausing, Mochida answered, "Sawada Tsunayoshi." As an afterthought, he added, "He attends Namimori Middle."

Scribbling the note down into a notebook, the woman made a couple more notes, perhaps to remind herself to do something, before giving him another cursory glance. "You may go now."

Blinking in surprise, he frowned. "That's it? No interrogation?"

"It's unnecessary, we'll call this 'Sawada Tsunayoshi' in for questioning later." Waving her hand at the door dismissively, she redirected her attention once more to the files she was managing prior to his entrance. Shrugging his shoulders, Mochida acquiesced and left, too caught up in his maelstrom of thoughts to notice the odd looks he received from the shoppers and the trickle of indigo melting from an empty alley, two sets of eyes watching from not far behind.


End file.
